


Phoenix Rising

by idunnowatimdoin



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: Clone Wars (2003) - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: (It's Xanatos for those of you familiar with that), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anakin Skywalker Needs a Hug, Brief mentions of suicide, Dad!Qui-Gon, F/M, Honestly this fic started as an Obikin fic, Human Disaster Anakin Skywalker, M/M, More characters tags and relationships will be added as I go, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Obi-Wan Kenobi Needs a Hug, Obi-Wan Kenobi-centric, Padawan Obi-Wan Kenobi, Possessive Anakin Skywalker, Possessive Behavior, Qui-Gon Jinn Lives, Suicide, Young Obi-Wan Kenobi, and Obikin added in as almost an afterthought, and turned into a chronicle of Obi-Wan's life, not explicit yet but it will be eventually, with a heaping of Obi-Wan's various bromances
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-22
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-13 19:33:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 45,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28908630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/idunnowatimdoin/pseuds/idunnowatimdoin
Summary: He has lived near a hundred lives. The ebb and flow of time – the cycle of birth, death, rebirth wraps around him like a lover’s embrace. He could not escape it if he tried. He never does.--Obi Wan is more than he seems. It changes everything.
Relationships: Bant Eerin & Obi-Wan Kenobi, Cerasi/Obi-Wan Kenobi, Obi-Wan Kenobi & Garen Muln, Obi-Wan Kenobi & Other(s), Obi-Wan Kenobi & Quinlan Vos, Obi-Wan Kenobi & Siri Tachi, Obi-Wan Kenobi/Anakin Skywalker, Obi-Wan Kenobi/Siri Tachi, Qui-Gon Jinn & Anakin Skywalker, Qui-Gon Jinn & Obi-Wan Kenobi
Comments: 97
Kudos: 214





	1. The Phoenix Reborn

**Author's Note:**

> So I literally haven't written anything that hasn't been a school assignment in over 2 years now, and even then I was mostly doing tumblr roleplaying oops. 
> 
> This is the first fanfic I've posted in over ten years and my second ever attempt at a Star Wars/Obikin fic (my first is still in progress and on the back burner because this idea popped into my head and demanded my attention so voraciously I couldn't refuse?), so please be kind. I've been low-key (read: high-key) obsessively deep-diving into Legends and all things Obi-Wan Kenobi for the past month, and while I think I'm starting to get a good feel for him I will be the first to admit my knowledge is lacking in a lot of areas so please be gentle but don't hesitate to throw ideas/suggestions on reading material my way! I'm loving all the learning I'm doing. 
> 
> Sorry for any mistakes, y'all; this was un-beta'd because I crave validation of my shitty life decisions and willful-insomnia too much to wait for one of my friends to edit this. Please sustain me with likes and comments down below~

He has lived near a hundred lives. The ebb and flow of time – the cycle of birth, death, rebirth wraps around him like a lover’s embrace. He could not escape it if he tried. He never does. It is inexplicably woven into his nature, imprinted in his marrow, built into the very framework of his being. Even in those brief, blessed moments of release when he is one with the Force, a being of pure cosmic energy, the cycle is imbued in his very essence: life, death, rebirth. 

Time ebbs and flows around him. Civilizations rise and fall. Empires crumble and others rise from the ashes, and he can appreciate the poetry of it all. The creatures of the galaxy wage war after war against one another, creatures of the Light and Dark clashing again and again. They turn their sights on those of his kind and others – creatures born of the Force – for they seek power and think through their conquest they may attain it. He watches their numbers dwindle, hears the anguished cries of so many beings in the Force, tastes their fear and their pain and their rage. He lives and he dies and he lives again, wondering each time if this life will be his last. Some lives are closer than others, and he dies screaming. He dies like this in the clash between the Brotherhood and the Army of Light: bleeding out in the field and screaming, fire in her eyes and saber in hand as she fought till her dying breath. In others, he lives a long life, his bones creaking with every step and when death takes him, it’s peaceful like when xeir passes at the ripe age of 111 under the waning moons of Kerest. 

He lives, dies, and lives again. Rinse, wash, repeat. All throughout the galaxy, he feels his brothers’ and sisters’ fires extinguished, their life signatures in the Force snuffed out between one breath and the next as he continues the cycle again and again. The creatures of the Force die out all around. He weeps. 

* * *

A star sputters, its light flickering as the gases that fuel its core finally begin to run out. In the vast depths of space, no one pays attention to this lone star – one of countless dotting the night sky as it shines its last light and goes dark – collapsing in on itself. A breath, a moment of tension for any even remotely sensitive to the Force, as though it were drawing itself tight in anticipation. And then: a spark. An explosion of fire and light and sound that ripples through the vacuum of space, sending tremors through the Force. From the ashes of the dying star births a new one, far brighter than the last, and in the chaos of its birth, a trail of fire shoots out across the inky black of space. 

The people of Stewjon watch with fascination, trepidation, and horror as the explosion of their waystar – the guiding star in their night sky, the one writ in their planets histories and legends, as old as their civilization itself – dies out, replaced as quickly as it left and a cascade of fiery debris rains down toward their planet. 

The historians write that night that it looked almost like a great beast taking flight in the skies. 

The Kenobi family never dares tell that when the fires died from the skies, they found a babe wailing in the center of a crater on their property, auburn hair shining like the fires themselves and smoke still rising from his pale skin. 

* * *

A crack sounds through the room as their practice blades meet, shudders running through both their arms from the force of the blow. Obi-Wan grinds his teeth, carrying through with more of his body weight in the over head strike and watches as Brock’s arms shudder with the strain of holding back his attack before the auburn haired boy shifts his landing foot back and flips backward, switching from the brute strength of Djem So to the acrobatic flips of Ataru in a mere breath and leaving his combatant without a chance to adjust. It’s almost cruel how savagely he beats the other youngling down; but when finally the other yelps out, “I yield,” rage and frustration burning in his eyes from where he lies on the ground beneath Obi-Wan’s practice blade, Obi-Wan can feel nothing but anger burning in his veins. He hisses, turning off the current in his practice blade and watches with disgust as relief visibly makes the other boy sag, turning away to leave the room. Master Jinn had already left halfway through the match, his Force presence radiating disapproval so pungent around him that Obi-Wan thinks he might scream. 

Rage burns in his chest, an inferno like the one that birthed him. He has lived near a hundred lives, fought countless wars, died bloodied and screaming on the battlefield at the hands of Jedi and Sith alike. He has felt the lives of his brothers and sisters snuffed out as they were hunted down one by one like animals as the true animals sought them out for powers they could not give, for prestige earned in their slaughter. Why then does he stand once more in the Jedi temple, fighting to become one of them, yearning to be picked as padawan by one of the beasts that – should they ever learn his true nature – would slit his wrists and drain every last drop of blood from his body? He takes a breath, two. Tries to remind himself that that isn’t fair, that it has been nearly two hundred years since the last Jedi has killed one of his kind, that the newly structured order had banned the practice of hunting down Force creatures for power and prestige. But it still burns to know that once these people who raised him, who he calls friends, who he regards as his closest family would once have slaughtered him for sport. For a moment, he curses his adoptive parents for having relinquished him to the Order at the first sign of his Force sensitivity.

His anger is a banked fire in his chest when he hears the click of a gimer stick against the floor behind him. Immediately the fire dies, replaced by shame at his thoughts and actions. He turns, feeling nothing like the ageless creature he is in truth and more like the youngling he appears to be as the wizened Grand Master of the Order looks at him. 

“Your temper lost again it seems, young Kenobi. A pattern this is becoming,” the green creature says, shuffling along, and Obi-Wan winces before falling into step and following him.

His hands worry at the hem of his robes nervously. “I know, Grand Master. I am sorry,” he says, voice low, eyes downcast. The halls around them are silent and empty, and Obi-Wan is immensely thankful that there are no other witnesses present to see his humiliation. 

The quiet trickle of water comes into range, and Obi-Wan allows Yoda to lead them into the room of a Thousand Fountains, even though he supposes he is one of the few people in the temple who does not find peace in this room. So much water does not align with the fiery nature burning at his core, but he does not allow his discomfort to show either in his expression or in his Force signature. “Come,” Yoda says, leading them to a patch of thick lush grass, obviously trying to get Obi-Wan to relax, “with me, meditate you shall.” 

They both sit, falling easily into meditative positions. For a moment, Obi-Wan fears that he will be unable to relax with the anger still churning within him, but as always this proves to be a non-issue, the fires at his core spreading until he feels warm but no longer incendiary. Obi-Wan feels his breaths lengthen as he allows himself to sink deeper and deeper into the Force, melding into the cosmos that birthed him all those years ago, feeling as close to complete as he can outside those brief instances between lives when he is truly one with the Force. He almost feels annoyed when Yoda’s voice intrudes on his solace, his comfort. “Now, such anger you feel, for what reason?” 

Obi-Wan swallows, feeling a thousand answers rise to the surface. He has lifetimes worth of anger, ages worth of pain and anguish carried inside him. There are times he wishes that he did not remember all his past lives, that he was oblivious to his true nature, that he did not carry all these secrets inside him. He wonders if it would be easier that way, to be so blind. Perhaps then he would not feel as though he is on fire all the time, burning from within. 

Probably not though, for fire is in his very nature, just as much as the cycle. Even if he did not know what he was, did not remember all the lives he has lived before this one, he would still feel the flames burning in his chest, the inferno raging in his heart like the star from which he was born. 

The silence between them stretches for a long time as he contemplates how to answer this without giving too much away. He’s fairly certain the Grand Master knows more than he lets on. The creature is of an unknown species and is nearing nine hundred years, himself. He has likely encountered others of Obi-Wan’s kind in his past, is likely putting the pieces together slowly. That doesn’t mean that Obi-Wan is going to make it easy on him. “I’m afraid,” he settles on, because it is true. He cannot remember a time he has not been afraid. Fear, he feels like, is as constant as the fire in his chest, as the cycle that brings him back again and again. “I’m afraid no Master will pick me and I’ll be sent away.” It’s one of many fears he has, but if he is sent away, there’s no telling what danger he’ll be in. Here in the Jedi Temple, he’s at least shielded from the Sith and any other Force users that may be hunting his kind down. If he’s cast out, he won’t have that luxury. 

“Hmmm,” the Grand Master frowns, and Obi-Wan feels him reaching out towards him in the Force. He carefully keeps his true self contained in the vessel of ‘Obi-Wan,’ the fires at his core screaming at being contained when they used to burn so free and bright they would blaze through the night skies, a thing of myth and legend. He can barely remember such freedom anymore. “Refused to train you, Master Qui-Gon did. Too aggressive he says you were.”

Obi-Wan’s heart sinks. He knows what that means. Knows that Qui-Gon was his last chance. He swallows, feels despair flood his heart and struggles to release it into the Force, knowing that the Grand Master is still watching his signature carefully. “So,” he whispers, and he is proud of how his voice doesn’t break, “they will send me to Bandomeer then? To the AgriCorps?”

Surprisingly, he feels Yoda’s signature brush against his own, the Grand Master’ affection, disappointment, and regret clear in the Force. “Yes.”

Obi-Wan let out a shaky breath. He has truly come to care for the Grand Master in his years at the temple, the green creature having taken him under his wing and teaching him patience and humility. It had been hard growing up here, all the memories of past offenses by the Jedi swarming his mind, tainting any signs of affection shown to him. It had nearly driven a wall between him and the other younglings, making him hot headed and prone to aggression. Lifetimes worth of memories made him leagues ahead of his agemates and this made him arrogant. It was only through the Grand Master’s teachings – his extra lessons and meditation sessions – that Obi-Wan had learned to center himself, to look past the slights of previous lives and let people prove themselves worthy or not. It was only because of Yoda that Obi-Wan was able to make friends, and was able to discover his interest in machines. It aches to think that he will have to part from the creature that played such a pivotal part of this life. But the cycle continues on, no matter what Obi-Wan wants. “Very well,” he sighs, fingers curling into his robes over his knees as he returns the brief brush of Force signatures before withdrawing further into himself. “I suppose this is goodbye then, Grand Master. It was an hono-”

The gimer stick whistles as it comes down to whack him upside the head. Obi-Wan will have a nice welt growing there soon. His eyes fly open, an indignant sound on his lips that dies at the gleeful little laugh Yoda gives him. “Goodbye, this is not, Young Kenobi. See you again, I shall. Great things, I sense in your future,” the Grand Master tells him, that infuriating smile on his face the whole time, and then he pivots and ambles away _far_ too quickly for a nine hundred year old being. 

Obi-Wan stares after him for a long moment. And then his lips quirk up into a grudging smile. 

* * *

Bandomeer turns out to be the Force’s way of twining Qui-Gon and his paths together. The man takes him on as padawan and together they take down the other’s former apprentice who fell to the dark. When they corner him on Telos, something shines in Xanatos’ eyes, something crazed but knowing when they fall on Obi-Wan. A chill runs down his spine as he realizes that _Xanatos knows_. His master’s former apprentice starts taunting him, and Qui-Gon thinks that this is what shakes Obi-Wan to the core, what makes him fall again and again. It’s not, it’s the knowledge that this man knows what Obi-Wan is, knows his true nature. It’s the first time he’s felt true panic in this lifetime, and it makes his knees weak, his blows sluggish. 

His master burns bright at the back of his mind, sending courage, strength, and reassurance through their training bond. He thinks that Xanatos’ taunts that he killed Bruck Chen are what make him falter and Qui-Gon is trying to suffuse as much calm and support as he can, even as he fights to save his fallen student. That show of affection is enough to make Obi-Wan stand, to lock his knees, to feed his fear into the fire burning at his core. 

When he jumps back up to the platform to join his master, Xanatos’ eyes are alight with madness, reflecting the flames shining in Obi-Wan’s hair. “Finally, the phoenix rises!” he screams as Obi-Wan raises his lightsaber, his foot pivoting to hit against his master’s, side pressing to the other man’s so they form a defensive block just like they’ve trained. He feels Qui-Gon jolt in shock, both at the words and at the sudden inferno blazing in the Force beside him, but it doesn’t matter. Obi-Wan throws himself forward, and after a brief moment of hesitation he feels Qui-Gon follow and together they drive Xanatos back. 

Only once they have the madman surrounded does he look back at Obi-Wan, that knowing look in his eyes. “You should have never shown yourself. Now that they know you for what you truly are, they will never stop hunting you down like an animal. You will never know a moment of peace. You will die for having loved the _true_ madman.” He laughs then, his gaze turning to Qui-Gon. “And you. You will never have the satisfaction of killing me, Qui-Gon Jinn. And I will never submit to anyone's laws. Your hate drove you, though you won't admit it. You destroyed me because you could not save me. I am your biggest failure. Live with that. And live with this."

Obi-Wan watches as Xanatos flings himself back into the acid vat, icy dread running down his spine dousing his flames. 

* * *

_Keep safe, keep hidden._ His master’s mantra chants in his head again and again through the years. _Keep safe, keep hidden._ Ever since the events on Telos, Qui-Gon has become distant yet contradictingly all the more protective of Obi-Wan. For all that the council raves about his master being a maverick, a rogue that barely adheres to the Code, his master keeps him always at an arm’s length, never showing him the affection, the attachment he had before. Before Telos. Before he found out Obi-Wan’s secret. He wonders if this willful separation is due to him finding out Obi-Wan’s true nature or the traumatic end to his former apprentice. Either way, it aches all the more. Now that Obi-Wan knows what Qui-Gon’s affection felt like, that taste of it he’d gotten in their hunt for the man’s fallen apprentice ambrosia whose memory lingers and haunts him with its continued absence, he yearns for it all the more and this cold detachment _stings_. 

_Keep safe, keep hidden._

Perhaps that’s why he leaves. Leaves Qui-Gon for the revolution on Melida/Daan, for the warm embrace of Cerasi, for the casual comradery of Nield. The Young are just what they call themselves – young, so very, very young – and Obi-Wan feels ancient fighting in their civil war. But when he buries himself in Cerasi’s arms and she flares in the Force with love so brightly, so openly, he cannot find it in himself to part with that feeling. Even when he can feel Qui-Gon’s bitter sense of betrayal burning away at the back of his mind in their fraying training bond. 

It’s not until the girl dies in his arms and he explodes, becoming a walking inferno that blows through both sides of the war that he thinks perhaps Qui-Gon was right. Perhaps cold detachment was better than love, was safer than attachment. 

He leaves behind ashes in his wake and chases Qui-Gon down. The man says nothing as he takes him back in, but he can feel the strain on their relationship after that. He doesn’t push the man for what he will not give, what he cannot give. After all, he had learned his lesson on Melida/Daan. Love was dangerous. 

_Keep safe, keep hidden._

* * *

Of course, Obi-Wan is weak. He always has been. He feels too much, too deeply. It’s been a fault he carries through each lifetime no matter what planet he is born to, what face he wears. Fire burns at his core and there is only so much coldness he can take before he is set alight once more. 

Quinlan Vos is unlike other Jedi padawans of this age. There is a darkness in his heart, a scar in the Force around him, and his emotions flit through his signature quick and volatile. He feels more like the grey Jedi of old, the ones that used to hunt Obi-Wan’s kind down for their prized immortality, the ones that Obi-Wan fought and died beside in countless wars. He can’t help but like the guy, much to the other boy’s shock. It would seem Vos is used to his abrasive nature being more off-putting than charming. Obi-Wan has always liked defying expectations. 

They work well together, for all that they’ve never met before. Vos is unorthodox in his fighting style, but Obi-Wan’s master is the renown maverick of the Order; he’s nothing if not versatile. 

Trekking up Mount Avos together to the rendezvous point is an ordeal; fighting their way through enemy lines as they do it, a bonding experience. By the time they make it to the caverns, hair matted to their brows by the oppressive humidity and the exertion of cutting through jungle and defensive formations alike, they both are been grinning in fiendish delight. Obi-Wan should know better than to let his guard down, should know better than to let Quinlan take the lead as they wind further and further into the mountain’s caverns. _Keep safe, keep hidden_ rings through his mind like a taunt as they are bathed in the glowing blue light of a swarm of challat eaters, the beating of their wings loud enough as they echo off the cave walls that Obi-Wan can barely hear Vos’ shout of warning before one swoops down toward Obi-Wan, trying to tear a chunk off his face. Vos throws an arm out, Force shoving it away from him, and Obi-Wan does the same to another coming for the boy’s exposed back.

They stand back to back, covering each other as they try to keep the swarm at bay, but it seemed like the bugs are endless. “We have to shield ourselves!” he shouts above the din, shooting a glance over his shoulder at Quinlan. 

The boy meets his gaze, his teeth bared in a snarl. “I know! Think you can keep up?” And then he’s letting out a wave of the Force. It slams into the insects, pushing them back a good six feet, and then it… stops. Obi-Wan could practically _hear_ Quinlan grinding his teeth and he can feel him fighting to maintain his shield in the Force. Obi-Wan grins savagely as his own shield blows out of him, the insects getting thrown back. Inside the bubble of their shields, it’s quiet. Almost peaceful. Except Obi-Wan feels like his entire body is screaming with the strain of holding the shield in place. He hasn’t had to exert this much precise Force control in this lifetime, and he can feel how this body quakes, not trained to channel this much energy at once. He isn’t sure how long he can sustain this, and it makes rage flare in his chest to know how weak he is. For all his years, all his lifetimes, he is limited by the physical limitations of this current body, by his current lack of training and control over the Force. 

He could feel Quinlan’s shoulders shaking behind him, and he knows the boy is barely faring any better. It’s hardly any consolation. If anything, it makes the fire burn brighter, knowing that the boy he’s starting to care about, that he might one day call a friend may die here with him before he ever gets that pleasure. He feels the flames building inside him higher and higher. 

_Keep safe, keep hidden!_ His master’s voice nearly screams the mantra in his head. 

Kriff that, he thinks with a snarl, feeling the fires licking at his skin, at his hair. Behind him he can feel Quinlan’s strength fading, his shields growing weaker, creeping inward. Where once they drove the insects six feet away, now they are but two. Obi-Wan grinds his teeth, feeling the fire licking down his spine. He’d burn all these carnivorous bugs to ash before he let them touch Vos. 

_Obi-Wan, stop!_ His master’s voice rings for true in the back of his mind, not a mantra but a warning sent through their training bond. A ripple in the Force and then all the bugs are being thrown back into the caverns by Master Plo Koon. Obi-Wan’s flames had extinguished as soon as his master’s words rang in his mind, his eyes snapping to meet his master’s immediately. His master looks utterly serene, face betraying nothing, but Obi-Wan can feel the relief at the back of his mind flood through him swiftly and knows the other Masters had not seen the flames. His limbs shake as he turns, putting a hand on Quinlan’s shoulder. “Come on,” he chokes, not meeting the boy’s eyes, and moves toward the masters. The Masters bring the ceiling of the cavern down, cutting the challat eaters off from the rest of them, and Obi-Wan lets Qui-Gon steer him back to camp, murmuring his concern over his physical safety while over their training bond his master asks, _Did he see?_

Obi-Wan’s hands are shaking, from fatigue and adrenaline alike. And from fear. _No, he saw nothing,_ he tells his master, but his gut twists as he looked over at Quinlan where he sits with Master Tholme to find the boy looking at him with an almost confused expression on his face. 

Quinlan doesn’t mention it, though. Not that night, and not for the rest of the Stark Hyperspace War. They still fight alongside each other, still work effectively as a team, still joke and share an easy air of comradery. But sometimes Obi-Wan feels Quinlan staring at him with that questioning look on his face, as if he were trying to piece something together. In moments like those, Obi-Wan feels himself pulling back, banking the fire in his chest. _Keep safe, keep hidden._ His master had shown him that cold detachment was safer than affection, that adherence to the Code was better than deviation. Perhaps it was time he stopped trying to stray from it and accepted that attachment was not something he could allow himself, could not afford if he wanted to remain hidden and safe in this lifetime. _Keep safe, keep hidden_. 

The war ends, and Obi-Wan thinks that’s the end of it. Thinks this thing with Vos will end and his master and he will be able to fly off back to the anonymity of space. Of course, his master has other plans. Master Tholme disappears at the end of the war, leaving Quinlan with them and Qui-Gon decides that this is the perfect time for them to go to Ragoon VI for a survival-training mission. Obi-Wan can’t understand what’s going on in his master’s mind anymore; one moment he’s impressing the importance that Obi-Wan keeps everyone at arm’s length, the next he’s leaving both him and Vos alone to their own devices. He doesn’t even give Obi-Wan an explanation as he leaves, simply smiling in that pseudo-sage way of his and telling him that it’s “the will of the Force.” Obi-Wan wants to tell his Master where he can shove his kriffing will of the Force. 

If Quinlan notices that Obi-Wan has been colder, more distant since the events in Avos, he hasn’t mentioned it. He also hasn’t stopped staring at Obi-Wan in that way that seems to be piercing into his soul. Perhaps it’s this that makes Obi-Wan challenge him, trying to distract him from his quest to figure out Obi-Wan’s secrets with ever-increasingly difficult maneuvers. The terrain of Ragoon VI doesn’t make it easy, the planet covered in mountain terrain and thundering waterfalls. They scale deadly cliffs and climb hundred year old trees taller than the towers at the Coruscant Jedi Temple. They dive in lakes and see who can hold their breath their longest and they ride giant stones down perilous inclines. They’re balancing precariously on rock piles at the top of a waterfall overlooking a whirlpool – really not Obi-Wan’s best idea, but Quinlan’s very good at upping the ante – when Vos overbalances and tumbles over the edge. And, well, there’s not even a moment to think before Obi-Wan’s throwing himself over the edge after him. 

Stars, he hates water he thinks as he hits the surface in a dive, opening his eyes as the current drags him down, down, down. He kicks his legs, serpentining his body to move with the current as he looks around for Quinlan. The boy is flailing about, obviously panicking, air escaping him quickly in bubbles that shoot upward to the surface without mercy. Quinlan keeps thrashing, trying to fight the tide, but it’s clear the boy is losing strength, and Obi-Wan pushes with the Force to get the current to take him quicker to the boy’s side. Before he can reach him, a riptide tries to surge him the other way and he feels panic flare in his chest as Quinlan jerks, his eyes locking on Obi-Wan with a look of desperation that – as Obi-Wan gets dragged further and further away from him – turns into resignation, and then acceptance. 

The fire bursts from him without conscious thought, water bubbling around him and turning to vapor instantly. His are the flames of stars, and even underwater they burn bright, born of his fear and his need to save the other boy. He feels them sprout out behind him like the wings of his true form, and he’s moving through the water to Vos, arm outstretched to grab him. 

Quinlan’s eyes are closed when Obi-Wan gets to him. His heart no longer beats in his chest. _No!_ Obi-Wan screams, and he feels incendiary, fear, rage, pain, and love all rushing through him at the thought that this boy – this sweet, incredible boy he’s coming to love – is dead. His flames surge out around him, enveloping them both, and he feels Quinlan jolt in his arms, feels his heart jump back into rhythm. 

The Force tugs around him and suddenly they’re rising up but it’s not by his doing. They’re lifted from the water, and Obi-Wan is still wreathed in flames as his master holds them in the air, Quinlan cradled in his arms like something precious. 

“That’s enough now, padawan,” Qui-Gon says. There is no anger in his tone like Obi-Wan expects, no fury over his blatant disregard over his Master’s warnings. _Keep safe, keep hidden._ He has done neither today. “That’s enough.” 

Obi-Wan’s flames go out, but when he looks down Quinlan is looking up at him, knowing in his eyes. 

It isn’t until an hour later when they’re huddled around the campfire, changed into dry clothes and cradling cups of steaming tea, Qui-Gon conveniently goes off again to do something nearby that Quinlan confronts him about it. “So you’re not human, are you?” he asks, as though he’s asking about the weather. Obi-Wan nearly inhales his tea, shooting him a glare as he coughs past the burning in his lungs. 

“You’re a starbird, aren’t you?” This time the question is quiet, and it’s so uncharacteristic for Quinlan that Obi-Wan bites his tongue on the instinctive denial, the rebuke that comes so naturally, the lie that’s kept him alive so long. Quinlan meets his eyes and Obi-Wan knows the other boy already knows the answer but that he needs to hear the truth from him all the same. It’s… it’s important, for whatever reason, that Obi-Wan tell the truth in this moment. He can feel it in the Force. 

He licks his lips and looks down into his tea. “Well, some of your kind call us phoenixes, but yes, starbird is a name we have gone by in the past.”

He hears Quinlan shifting around and looks up. The boy gets up and moves to sit beside him. He’s silent for a long moment, his own eyes on his tea cup. He doesn’t meet Obi-Wan’s eyes. “I… I felt myself die. In the water earlier. I felt my heart stop.” Obi-Wan feels his breath hitch. Quinlan looks up, and there’s an unreadable look in his eyes. “You the reason it start back up again?”

“You’re my friend,” Obi-Wan says, gritting his teeth. He looks away, feeling the anger, the fear, the pain building back up in his chest. To his humiliation, tears burn at the corner of his eyes. “I wasn’t going to just watch you die.”

“Huh,” Quinlan says, and Obi-Wan’s gaze snaps to him. Except the other boy is looking up to the sky, his own face serene. But around them something shifts in the Force, a puzzle piece slotting into place. Quinlan turns his face to look at Obi-Wan, shooting him a mischievous grin, “I guess you’re right.”

* * *

Tatooine is sweltering, the planet desolate and barren. Obi-Wan has traveled across the galaxy in his many years with Qui-Gon, has seen many star systems and fought on many different terran planets, but the scorched earth of Tatooine is something different entirely. A part of him sings at the unyielding heat, the twin suns beating down on him stoking the fires burning in his core. He’s grateful in these moments for his true nature, certain that if it were possible for him to burn he would be covered in blisters by the end of his excursion to save the queen from the Tusken raiders. As it is, his fair skin shines in the dual suns, soaking up the light hungrily and it’s all he can do to keep himself from igniting as he fights their war chief. In the past twelve years, he has tempered his anger and learned to hold more firmly to the Jedi Code. Where his master has become known as the maverick of the Order, he has been celebrated as the “perfect Jedi,” his calm and collected demeanor and strict adherence to the Code a clear contrast to his renegade Master. It never ceases to amuse his master, one of the few people privy to his true nature, that a creature so fiery at their core can be so neutral in appearances. But he knows it is born of necessity. _Keep safe, keep hidden._ He has not forgotten his master’s lesson even now. 

The days pass on the planet, and Obi-Wan itches to leave. The longer they are there, the harder it seems to fight the fires burning inside him. Something thrums in the air here, heady and powerful in the Force, and he can feel himself responding to it instinctively. Qui-Gon can’t seem to hear the rising urgency in his voice every time he comms over, or if he does he ignores it, too caught in the mystery that is the boy. 

Obi-Wan buries the jealousy that builds in his chest, trying to smother that fire before it can truly burn, though he can feel the embers of it still. They refuse to die out, feeding on every comm from Qui-Gon where he mentions this boy, intrigue and fascination plain in his voice. Obi-Wan tries not to remember the bitter tang of Qui-Gon’s disapproval, his disappointment all those years ago after his sparring match with Brock, the rejection that sent him to Bandomeer to join the AgriCorps, the continued feeling of not belonging, not being good enough he carried for years after. He remembers them all the same, feeds them into the embers and watches them spark up in his chest to surge like Tatooine’s twin suns in his eyes. While the handmaids sleep, he steals away in the night and releases his anger in a fiery burst into the desert chill, the column of flame burning its way around him so hot and intense that when it finally stops he finds himself surrounded by a crater of desert glass, twisted and beautiful, sharp and deadly like his anger, his agony. He jumps from its center and returns to the ship, shame churning in his belly. 

The next day, they are meant to leave. The handmaid, Padme, and Jar Jar are already back to the ship when the boy bursts into the cockpit. Obi-Wan barely has time to look at him, has time to react to the inferno burning its way in the Force. “Qui-Gon’s in trouble!” the boy shouts, looking instinctively to Obi-Wan. 

“Take off,” Obi-Wan commands, turning to the captain and looking through the transparisteel window to survey the terrain before them. His master fights on the ground, leaping about in a swirl of robes and emerald blade as a storm of black and red batters down on him. _Fly low!_ Qui-Gon’s voice rings in his head, and Obi-Wan relays the message to the pilot. Anxiety creeps up his spine, and he fights to keep it from bleeding through their training bond to his master. He rushes out of the cockpit as his master jumps aboard. “Are you alright?” he gasps, rushing to his side. 

“I think so,” Qui-Gon pants, drenched in sweat and looking far too worn and winded for such a short skirmish in the sands. Obi-Wan feels a flare of his concern bleed through their training bond and Qui-Gon looks at him, sending a wave of calm. 

“What was it?” he asks, pressing a hand to his master’s knee in silent apology, trying to reign in his emotions. 

Qui-Gon gives him a look that shows he knows what he’s doing. “I’m not sure, but it was well trained in the Jedi arts. My guess is it was after the queen.”

“What are we going to do about it?”

Obi-Wan looks to his right, and the boy is kneeling there radiating concern into the Force. He’s looking to Qui-Gon for instruction, so Obi-Wan looks back at his master, too. 

“We shall be patient,” Qui-Gon says in that infuriatingly cryptic way of his. Then he turns and grins. “Anakin Skywalker, meet Obi-Wan Kenobi.”

The boy turns to look at him, their eyes locking for the first time and Obi-Wan feels like the floor drops out from under him. He’s vaguely aware that Anakin is talking, is aware that he’s shaking the boy’s hand and that Qui-Gon is looking at him strangely, but he can’t speak, can’t breathe, can barely keep himself from igniting into a shroud of protective flames and flinging himself across the ship as far from the boy as possible. 

In all his lifetimes, he has never once met a dragon until he looks into the sky blue eyes of Anakin Skywalker.


	2. The Battle of Naboo & The Fall of Qui-Gon Jinn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Zabrack rips the blade from his master’s body and pivots to face him. Qui-Gon’s leg’s buckle and he falls to his knees, sprawling out on the floor bonelessly. 
> 
> Fire bursts from Obi-Wan’s body without conscious thought as he lets out another wordless scream of rage, the anger flowing through him unrestrained. Along with it is hatred, black and bitter. It twists at his heart, at his soul, and he can feel the cloying grip of the darkside of the Force sinking its claws into him, feeding off his rage, his pain, his hate. The Zabrack’s eyes are wide with shock, but that twists into understanding, into _knowing_ , into **delight.** He recognizes Obi-Wan for what he is and the darkside of the Force that twists around him, winding around his chest, around his heart, around his throat feels the Sith’s glee at the knowledge that a real life _**phoenix**_ stands before him. Murderous intent ricochets between the two men, one’s black lips twisted up in savage glee and the other’s ripped back in a snarl.

“What is the _matter_ with you?” Qui-Gon hisses later that night. He’s followed Obi-Wan back to his chambers on the ship, cornered him really as Obi-Wan has been doing everything he can to avoid both his master and the boy who has been shooting him hurt, questioning looks since the moment Qui-Gon introduced them and he’d fallen deathly silent. “Why are you being so _cruel_ to the boy?”

Obi-Wan runs a hand through his hair, falling to sit on his bed. A hysterical laugh tears itself from his lips and his master visible reels back when he turns crazed eyes on the older man. “That boy is going to **kill** me,” he whispers, and he feels the Force shudder around him at the declaration. He closes his eyes, feeling tears slide down his cheeks and thinks, _So this is how it ends._

“What?!” Qui-Gon hisses, and Obi-Wan’s eyes open as he surges forward, sitting on the bed beside him. His hands fall to Obi-Wan’s shoulders and he forces his padawan to turn, to look at him. “Padawan, _explain_ yourself.”

Obi-Wan sucks in a breath, feeling more tears slip down his cheeks. Force, it had burned days earlier when he knew the man found the boy so interesting where he had always found Obi-Wan lacking, but now it _hurts_ . This feels like a betrayal, and he sees Qui-Gon flinch as the feeling bleeds through their training bond, feels his hands tighten on his shoulders. “He’s a _Duinuogwuin_ , Qui-Gon. He’s **destined** to kill me.” 

Qui-Gon sucks in a breath, his hands falling from Obi-Wan’s shoulders and he can feel the other man’s shock radiate through their bond. Obi-Wan laughs, wiping his tears away as he turns away from his master. He wraps his hands around himself, trying to hold himself together through the pain, the panic, the betrayal rocking through him. “I– I don’t–”

“You humans might not remember,” Obi-Wan says, and his voice sounds wrecked. “It happened so long ago, before your kind started hunting us off. Before we became so few in number that we faded away into nothing but legend.” And now there’s anger, and that’s something familiar. He wraps himself in it, lets the fire build in his chest. Feeds his pain, his betrayal, his jealousy to the flames until it’s all he feels. 

“Obi-Wan–”

“The Duinuogwuin – the Star Dragons – are the antithesis of my kind. Where my kind is born from the birth of a nova, theirs is born from its death. They are born from the darkness where we are born from the light,” he smiles bitterly, “You could say we are two sides of the same coin, a perfect foil. Once, we lived in balance, in peace. But then the dragons grew cruel and angry. They let the darkness spread and they started hunting us. And then they taught your kind how to kill us.” Here his lips twist in savage delight. “Of course, they didn’t count on your kind using that knowledge to learn how to kill _them_ , too. Now, you hunt us both. But we will never forget that it was **them** who drew first blood, they who started this all.” 

Qui-Gon is silent at his side, his face pale. His hands at some point through Obi-Wan’s explanation had fallen back to his lap and he makes no move to reach back out. Obi-Wan wishes that he would so that he could slap his master’s touch away. “I didn’t know,” he whispers, sounding pained. 

“You know nothing, Qui-Gon Jinn,” he hisses, looking at his master with eyes blazing and when he speaks it is with the voice of nearly a hundred lives. “You know _nothing_ , and yet you have brought my death to this very ship and ask me why I act so cruelly.” 

“Obi-Wan, I–”

“Just leave, Master,” Obi-Wan snaps, feeling his anger spiking like it had in the desert. “I do not wish to speak to you or anyone else tonight.” He turns away from Qui-Gon, closing his eyes as he tries to breath. _There is no emotion, there is peace_ , he recites, the words hollow in his mind as his anger flares bright in his chest. _There is no emotion, there is peace._

He doesn’t hear Qui-Gon slip from his room. 

* * *

He still hasn’t spoken by the time they land on Coruscant a week later. His master looks harrowed, dark circles under his eyes hinting at long hours of lost sleep. Obi-Wan would feel guilty about it if he hadn’t also lost hours of sleep trying to keep his anger, his fear, his betrayal at bay. At his master’s other side, Anakin hovers, his concern surrounding him in the Force. Obi-Wan grinds his teeth and looks away. 

The Queen’s party moves away, and Anakin goes with them. His master shoos him along, and Obi-Wan allows him a flare of gratitude through their training bond before he slams his shields back into place, effectively cutting the other man off completely. He still feels Qui-Gon’s shock at the brief contact, the concern from his moment’s glimpse at the maelstrom of Obi-Wan’s mind, his relief at the albeit momentary armistice. 

They go back to the Temple, and Obi-Wan stands in stony silence as his master gives his report to the Council. He knows without Qui-Gon having to say anything that he will bring up the boy, but it still burns when he makes to leave and Qui-Gon stays rooted to the spot. He turns back around and stares at the wall as his master tells them of a vergence he sensed. _There is no emotion, there is peace.There is no emotion, there is peace._ _Thereisnoemotionthereispeacethereisnoemotionthereispeace–_

Qui-Gon turns to leave, and he follows. 

When they stand outside the Council doors, he pauses and Obi-Wan can feel the genuine sadness he pushes through their training bond. “I am sorry, Padawan.”

Obi-Wan remains silent. 

* * *

Down below, Anakin stands in the Council chambers undergoing tests to see if he is worthy of being trained to be a Jedi. 

Instead of waiting outside the chambers as Obi-Wan thought he would, Qui-Gon leads them to the top of the tower, walking them up to the balcony to overlook Coruscant. The sky is lit with the sunset, oranges and reds streaking across the sky. For all that the pollution of the planet makes it hard to breathe, it makes for truly breathtaking sunsets, and Obi-Wan looks at the fire spreading across the horizon and yearns. Qui-Gon is silent where he stands beside him leaning on the railing. He thinks he should tell him that Anakin won’t pass, should chide him for pushing the Council on this. He can’t bring himself to, that anger in his chest – that betrayal – burning too fresh. The wound is too new, too deep for him to pretend it isn’t there. _There is no emotion, there is peace._

“You said that the Duinuogwuin and the starbirds lived in peace, once,” Qui-Gon says, breaking the silence between them finally. Obi-Wan’s hands tighten where he’s gripping the rail and he looks at the other, fire in his eyes. His master isn’t looking at him, instead looking at the horizon contemplatively. There’s a look of deep sadness in his eyes that makes Obi-Wan still, that keeps him from spitting the vitriol rising in his throat. “I believe Anakin is the Chosen One, the boy who will bring balance to the Force.”

It’s not new information. Obi-Wan had guessed as much from everything his master has done, from how hard he has been pushing the Council to accept the boy. It still hurts to hear his master say it, to know just how highly he holds this boy where he has never truly wanted to have Obi-Wan as his padawan. 

Qui-Gon sighs, “I believe he is the Chosen One, and I wish to train him.” And oh how that _burns_. Obi-Wan has to look away, tears stinging at his eyes. He can’t even enjoy the sunset anymore, the colors blurring together. He knew it was coming, but to be cast aside so cavalier is so – “But I do not want to raise the man who will one day be your executioner.”

Obi-Wan gasps, turning to look at his master and Qui-Gon is looking at him now. And for all that his master has been coolly detached these years, keeping walls between them and making sure that Obi-Wan knew there was never any affection, any attachment on Qui-Gon’s part, now he feels it all a facade. The other sends caring and affection through their training bond, the carefully maintained walls between them falling to reveal a deep sense of conviction to train Anakin but regret that Qui-Gon has endangered Obi-Wan in doing so. He feels how the man has come to care for him like a son, and Obi-Wan chokes, tears flowing freely as he crumbles. But it’s okay because Qui-Gon is there to catch him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders as he stumbles forward into the man and _clings_. His master holds him and he can feel the other’s tears sliding into his hair where his master’s chin rests against his head, Obi-Wan’s own soaking into his master’s robes, his fingers clenching in the synthwool so tight he’s not sure he could let go if he tried. “I’m sorry, Padawan,” he whispers into Obi-Wan’s hair, “I’m so, so sorry.” 

* * *

When the Council calls the back before them, Obi-Wan feels wrung out but calmer than he has in days. Perhaps in years – since before Bandomeer, since before Yoda had told him that no one had claimed him, that no one had wanted him. He had had to fight for it, to earn it, but after twelve years he has Qui-Gon’s respect, his affection. The man cares for him, enough so that while he will train the Chosen One – regardless of the Council’s decision – Obi-Wan can feel his agony over it, his uncertainty. Not because he does not believe the boy is the one who will bring balance to the Force, but because he worries that the boy will harm Obi-Wan. That knowledge brings a level of calm that reciting the Code could not, and Obi-Wan allows it to wash over him as he stands under the Council’s scrutiny. 

“He’s too old,” they say, and they all knew it was coming, but he can feel his master’s indignation flare all the same. 

Obi-Wan steps forward before his master can, dropping into a low bow before the Masters. “Please, Masters,” he entones, a feeling of serenity washing through him unlike any he has experienced in this life before. He knows he should be afraid, speaking up before the Council about something so controversial, pleading to have the creature that will one day be his demise trained in the very halls he considers his home, but he feels nothing in this moment but certainty that this – for whatever reason – is the correct path for him to walk. So he shall walk it. “My Master may be many things, but he is wise and far more attuned to the Living Force than many among us. If he says that this boy is the Chosen One and that it is the will of the Force that he be trained, then I believe him with all my heart and beg you to reconsider.” He does not lift his head, remaining bent low in supplication before them. He can hear them all whispering fervently above him, but he does not move. Qui-Gon’s shock radiates through their bond, but he does not let that move him, does not look back at him, just pushes his sincerity out of him into the Force for all in the room to feel. 

It’s Master Plo Koon’s voice that answers softly, sounding almost apologetic, “He is too old, Padawan, Kenobi. We cannot train him.” Obi-Wan remembers him from their time fighting together in the Stark Hyperspace War. He was a fierce warrior and brilliant tactician, but he also cared deeply for all lifeforms. He respects the Master immensely. Still…

“I _implore_ the Council: allow me to take my Trials and allow my master to take the boy on as his new padawan learner.” 

There’s a collective gasp from the room, many of the Masters voicing their shock and distaste for his statement. Behind him, he feels Qui-Gon step forward and a hand touch his shoulder. “My padawan is headstrong, for certain Masters, and he has much to learn about the Living Force, but he is also brave and selfless and embodies the virtues of the Order in ways I never have.” Qui-Gon squeezes his shoulder, and Obi-Wan feels something tight in his throat, turning his head to look at his master. His master smiles down at him before looking up at the Council with pride. “I have little more I could teach him. He is more than ready for his Trials.” 

“Take into consideration this, the Council will,” the Grand Master’s voice cuts through the din, and all in the room go silent, looking at him in shock. Obi-Wan stands up slowly, Qui-Gon’s hand still resting on his shoulder reassuringly, and Yoda looks at it with contentment. “A fine Padawan, Master Jinn has raised, one said to be too old to train, too, no? Perhaps with the boy, he will also find a way where others could not.”

There’s really not much the others can say to argue with that, the evidence of Qui-Gon’s success standing before them, his humility and selflessness so plain for all to see. 

Clearing his throat, Master Windu draws the attention in the room to him. “Very well. We shall deliberate further on the matter. For now, Master Jinn, Padawan Kenobi, you must see the Queen back to Naboo.” 

“What about me?” comes a small voice from the back of the room. Obi-Wan turns to look and Anakin stands there, near forgotten in all of this, looking small. It’s hard to feel anything but pity for the boy in that moment, his expression so uncertain and scared that Obi-Wan can almost forget the **danger** that lurks behind those cerulean eyes. _He’s just a boy_ , he tells himself, and feels shame flooding him at how he has been treating the boy the past few days, no matter how justified. 

He tries for a small smile. “You’ll come with us, of course,” he says, and can feel Qui-Gon’s shock through their bond at him addressing Anakin directly. He ignores it as Anakin turns those big eyes at him, equally shocked at being addressed by Obi-Wan for the first time. “You’re our responsibility now.”

The boy looks a little wobbly-lipped at that, but he nods. “Okay.” 

* * *

The flight from Coruscant to Naboo is eight days by hyperdrive. They spend much of their time trying to strategize with the queen. It seems she would attempt to sway the Gungans to fight on her side to retake the planet with her. All the while Anakin runs afoot, asking questions about the ship and about the Force, curious and excited about everything. Obi-Wan isn’t quite avoiding him, but he’s not making himself overly available like everyone else on the ship is. His master notices, but doesn’t comment, instead stepping in to answer Anakin’s questions about the Force in his place. While Obi-Wan may have accepted that his master intends to train the boy, he can’t quite forget what Anakin is, can’t quite look at him and not see the _threat_ lurking in those azure eyes. It’s unfair – he’s just a boy and doesn’t deserve Obi-Wan’s animosity – so he avoids him as much as possible. He can tell Anakin picks up on this and is hurt by it; the boy seems to want to make friends with _everyone_ , so friendly and eager to please. Obi-Wan would feel worse about it, but this is already so much better than the animosity, the stinging bitter jealousy he felt immediately for the boy so he thinks he should be cut some slack. Qui-Gon seems to agree if the way he effortlessly intercepts Anakin again and again when he beelines toward Obi-Wan is any indication. Obi-Wan makes sure to send his gratitude through their bond before beating his retreat back to the other end of the ship. 

By the time they make it to Naboo, he hasn’t said a single word to the boy. He is beginning to feel a bit guilty about it, especially as in the past day or so when Anakin sees him he lights up and makes to step towards him only to deflate and stop, looking hesitant before turning to go do something else. It hurts to know he’s broken the indomitable boy’s spirit, but it’s probably for the best that he maintains his distance from the very beginning. It’ll be safer for them both in the long run. 

When they arrive, he and his master step off the ship to survey the land. The others are setting up camp nearby as Jar Jar makes his way toward the Gungan city, and Obi-Wan sends a prayer to the Force that the Gungan doesn’t manage to mess this up somehow.

“Do you think the queen’s idea will work?” he asks his master, voice low so none of the others will hear. 

His master is silent a moment, and Obi-Wan knows he’s allowing himself to be an open conduit to the Living Force, allowing it to flow through him and guide him. “The Gungans will not be easily swayed. And we cannot use our power to help her.” He sounds deeply troubled by this last part, as though he wishes he could abuse his Force powers and manipulate the Gungans into fighting a war they may not want. His master truly is a maverick. Obi-Wan can easily see him fighting beside the Grey Jedi of old, and for a moment he feels wistful and ancient, memories flitting across his vision of lifetimes long past. 

“I am sorry if my behavior with the Council startled you, Master,” he says finally, looking up to his master with sincerity. He has not been able to say this on the ship with so many vying ears, with Anakin so close. “I knew you would press them and that they would not take it well, but I thought if I suggested it that perhaps they may listen.”

Qui-Gon chuckles, putting a hand on Obi-Wan’s shoulder. “It was truly shocking to hear you fight with the Council, and for the boy no less. They have been lording it over my shoulder for the past few years how much better at following the code you are than I. To hear you disagree with them,” he chuckles again, more heartily, and confides, “I thought Master Windu’s head was going to explode.” A pause. “But I do think you were correct, Padawan. The Council thinks I am too rash, too unorthodox. They trust you to be my counterbalance more often than not, and to hear you agree with me gave my argument to train the boy more weight. Anakin and I owe you much thanks, my young apprentice.”

Obi-Wan flushes with pride, letting it fill him and spill over their bond, and he can feel it reflected from Qui-Gon. “I am grateful you think I am ready to take the Trials, Master.” 

“You have been a great apprentice, Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon smiles, letting his hand trail up to cup Obi-Wan’s cheek, affection flooding their bond openly and Obi-Wan wonders how he ever doubted that his Master cared for him. “And a much wiser man than I. I foresee you will become a great Jedi Knight.”

* * *

The battle to capture the Viceroy has them sneaking back into the Theed palace. The hangar doors to the main flight deck open, and everything is a blur of blaster fire and motion. Obi-Wan is deflecting shots from all directions, trying to protect the scrambling pilots as they run to their ships so that this kriffing plan can work, so that they can keep as many people from dying today as possible. His blade cuts through durasteel, the molten smell of burning metal filling the air as droid bits hit the ground over and over again. 

And then the Zabrack steps forward, the Force twisting and warping around him, dark and convoluted. _The Sith apprentice_ , his mind hisses even as his stomach drops and something instinctual tells him to flee, the fires within him flaring up in fear as they recognize a **predator** ready and willing to strike him down. Because while the Council may not have recognized this creature as a Sith, may be dithering over their assumption that the Sith have died out, Obi-Wan feels it in his bones, in the Force itself that the male before him is a Sith. He’s fought against enough of them to know their malevolent presence in the Force. And while the Jedi may have stopped hunting his kind down two hundred years ago, but he doubts the Sith have done so. 

He doesn’t get the chance to think about it any further as the Sith throws himself forward in a lethally beautiful dance of black and red. He practices Juyo, the unrefined version of Master Windu’s seventh style, Vapaad. Obi-Wan’s arms shake under the first blow, and he wonders how he’s to hold out against this if he’s already struggling to hold the Sith’s blows back before he’s even started to fatigue. 

Qui-Gon throws himself forward and then they’re rushing him together, the perfect balance of attack and defense built over more than a decade of fighting side by side. It’s easy to slide into the familiar form of Soresu, to step forward and parry the Zabrack’s overhead thrust, leaving Qui-Gon a moment to leap forward in the artful acrobatics of Ataru and aim for his exposed flank. They drive him back into the Plasma Refinery Complex. And while they haven’t got him completely on the defensive, Obi-Wan allows himself a grim smile because he can feel the Sith’s frustration at not having the clear upper hand in this fight. 

A heel connects solidly with his chin, knocking his head back savagely and his momentum throws him over the edge of the catwalk. He feels a flare of concern in the back of his mind from his master, but knows the man cannot risk even a moment’s hesitation to check on him; they had barely been keeping the Zabrack pressed with the both of them. Obi-Wan hits the lower platform and keeps falling, barely catching himself on the level beneath that. He hangs, suspended, trying to pull himself up as his master flings the Zabrack down to the level above him. Climbing up, he eyes the fight above him for a moment, trying to time his jump up to best help his master, but they’re already making their way across the platform toward the laser shields. Obi-Wan jumps quickly to follow, sprinting for dear life to catch up, but the red force fields come to life between them before he can reach his Master. He watches as the Zabrack paces and his master kneels, catching his breath. His master’s exhaustion bleeds through their bond and he can’t help his own concern from pushing through. 

_Master, you must hold him at bay until I can reach you,_ he pushes through, desperation in his tone. 

Even in his mind, he can hear his master’s fatigue, _I will try, Padawan._

The gates open and Obi-Wan is sprinting forward, running as hard as he can but it’s not fast enough and he has to watch as the fight carries on before him, helpless. His master’s exhaustion is writ in every line of his body. He no longer jumps about, the acrobatics of Ataru too taxing for his already tried system, but his master is stubborn and does not switch to a more defensive form and Obi-Wan grinds his teeth in frustration. He knows his master has come to rely on him too heavily for defense, knows he has allowed this too much, but to see that weakness play out in such a crucial moment when he can do nothing to fix it is excruciating. 

And then…

A saber hilt to the face. A stunned look on his master’s face, and then the Zabrack twists and runs him through with the twisted red blade. 

“Noooooooo!”

Red tints his vision, floods it until red is all he knows. Carmine force field blocking his path, preventing him from rushing to his master’s side, from joining the fight, from _saving_ him. He should never have let them get separated. Scarlet saber sliding its way into his master’s body, burning it’s way through flesh and blood and sinew ruthlessly. Crimson face twisted in savage glee, watching with sickening glee as Obi-Wan’s master– his master, his mentor, the closest thing he has to a father– gasps, mouth opening in shock.

The Zabrack rips the blade from his master’s body and pivots to face him. Qui-Gon’s leg’s buckle and he falls to his knees, sprawling out on the floor bonelessly. 

Fire bursts from Obi-Wan’s body without conscious thought as he lets out another wordless scream of rage, the anger flowing through him unrestrained. Along with it is hatred, black and bitter. It twists at his heart, at his soul, and he can feel the cloying grip of the darkside of the Force sinking its claws into him, feeding off his rage, his pain, his hate. The Zabrack’s eyes are wide with shock, but that twists into understanding, into _knowing_ , into **delight** . He recognizes Obi-Wan for what he is and the darkside of the Force that twists around him, winding around his chest, around his heart, around his throat feels the Sith’s glee at the knowledge that a real life _**phoenix**_ stands before him. Murderous intent ricochets between the two men, one’s black lips twisted up in savage glee and the other’s ripped back in a snarl. 

When the force field gates open, he’s in motion. Gone is the calm, patience, and inner peace that he has so pain-stakingly cultivated. Gone are all the extra lessons with Master Yoda, learning to set aside his arrogance, his impatience, his anger, everything the Grand Master warned him would one day be his undoing. Gone are all thoughts but the anger, the pain, the hate. Power washes through him. The echoing silence and emptiness where his master’s constant presence once rested is a roar. Obi-Wan launches himself at the Zabrack the moment the barrier comes down.

The world is painted in shades of red, his vision tunnels to just the Zabrack. Their sabers meet in a brutal clash of plasma that shudders up his arm, his initial strike violent and aimed to hack the Sith in half. The other counters the blow easily, and then they’re moving. 

Fire licks its way across his body, flaring up to wreath around his lightsaber and every time it clashes against the Zabrack’s, the flames flare up to scorch the other man. He can see blisters rising on the other’s skin, red and black welts that pop and weep under the heat of his hate. _Good_ , he thinks cruelly _, let him bleed_. 

There is no grace to this fight, no thought or strategy. Only instinct and deadly intent. Obi-Wan moves with the finely tuned instincts of nearly a hundred lives, of countless battles and wars fought, of endless hours spent training his bodies through the ages. The Zabrack is an incredible fighter, one of the best Obi-Wan has faced. He doesn’t care. The only thought on his mind is to make this monster bleed, to rip him limb from limb and make him suffer for what he’s done. To make him pay. 

He goes for an overhead strike, bringing it down with a snarl and the entire weight of his body behind the blow. The Zabrack grins and moves, overbalancing him. While he’s reeling, stumbling and trying desperately to catch his footing the Sith shoves him with the Force, a wall of steel slamming into him and throwing him over the ledge. 

Obi-Wan falls. 

His hand catches hold of a shelf in the vent shaft, shoulders wrenching as his body jerks to a stop. Slow steps approach and sickening yellow eyes peer over the edge. Something rushes past his face and he realizes with a sickening twist of dread that it was his lightsaber. He does not cry, cannot afford to. Not now. He will mourn the loss later, will remember the trip to Ilum and the journey into the caves, the visions he fought through to prove himself worthy of the crystal that chose him. For now… for now the rage, the hatred, the pain flare once more in his chest and give fuel to the banking flames, making them flare brighter, hotter, further. They arch out behind him, cresting out behind his back like the wings of his true form, and the Zabrack watches with wide eyes as he throws himself upward, calling out into the Force. 

The wings open behind him as he rises from the vent, fire burning all around him as his master’s lightsaber slams into his hand, bursting to life. He lands behind the Zabrack and as the Sith turns to meet him, his last thoughts are that the creature he sees no longer looks like a man or a Jedi but an avenging angel wreathed in flame, fire burning in his eyes as the lightsaber cleaves him in two. 

The Sith’s body crumples and falls down the vent shaft, and Obi-Wan watches with scornful vindication, incendiary with triumph and vengeance attained. 

A noise to his right, and the fury, the hate, is extinguished immediately, replaced with hope, with fear. He rushes to his master’s side, dropping swifly to his knees and taking him into his arms. A wretched sound escapes him when he finds Qui-Gon still alive, his Force signature fading away but still there. 

“No, it – It’s too late.”

“No,” he sobs, pulling Qui-Gon closer. He won’t – can’t – let him go, and he reaches with the Force through their bond desperately. He feels nothing from his master’s side, but he keeps pouring the Force through it, begging anything that this work. 

“Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon gasps, his Force signature flickering up to wrap around Obi-Wan one last time. Obi-Wan _clings_ , wrapping his Force signature up in his master’s greedily, refusing to let go. “Promise… Promise me you will train the boy.”

“Yes, Master.” The reply is instantaneous, slipping from him without thought. He could not deny Qui-Gon anything in this moment, even if he wanted to. There is no jealousy now, no anger at this being Qui-Gon’s last concern. He can feel his master’s affection wrapped around him, has felt it in the days prior and he cannot blame his master for worrying about Anakin’s future. 

“He is the Chosen One. He… will bring balance,” Qui-Gon insists, and Obi-Wan could not care less about the prophecy, about the Order, about balance, about any of it. He would give it all up if he could keep his master with him. Guilt lances through him at the thought, but he just clings tighter to Qui-Gon with his Force Signature. It goes against everything the Order has taught him, everything he was raised to believe. But he **_doesn’t care_ ** . Qui-Gon has taught him that attachment is not the great evil the Order professes it to be. Attachment, love, affection… he has felt it all and he knows Qui-Gon has felt it all for him in return. Obi-wan has always loved fiercely and suffered for every loss… now he’s going to lose his Master. “Train him.” Qui-gon’s final words are a command that Obi-wan will see through if it **kills** him. The words are barely out before Qui-Gon goes limp in his arms, his Force signature fading away completely. Obi-Wan grasps at it, hands coming down to cradle his master’s face. Despite him, Obi-wan feels it slipping away like sand between his fingers. 

Qui-Gon’s heart stops, and Obi-Wan’s head tilts back in a wordless scream and ignites, body erupting into flames. 

The Force thrums, the air thin from the heat of the fiery heart of a nova. 

With a jolt, Qui-Gon’s heart beats again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, all!! So if you're kinda confused about all the mythos that came up in this chapter, don't be alarmed. It's NOT Star Wars canon (not even Legends!!). To be fair, Starbirds AND Duinuogwuins _are_ both part of the Star Wars universe, but I _totally_ took their basic information and ran with it, and now I'm basically creating my own mythos!! I will be revealing more about the Starbirds and Stardragons as the series unfolds, but if you'd like to read up more about the two of them, here's the links to both of their articles on Wookipedia: 
> 
> [Starbirds](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Starbird)  
> [Duinuogwuin](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Duinuogwuin)
> 
> Be warned, the Starbirds page is... pretty much just like lol they're mythical birds that were mentioned in passing like two to three times but here's a drawing of what they maybe looked like!! Duinuogwuins are a bit more fleshed out, but keep in mind I will probably be tweaking them to fit along with my whole "two halves of the same coin" theme (aye all my Merlin fans who got that reference -fingerguns- I _see_ y'all)
> 
> Also!! Idk about how everyone else calculates travel times between planets for their fics, but I use [this nifty little calculator!!](http://d6holocron.com/astrogation/mandc.html)  
> Of all the things I found in my search, it seems the most realistic in terms of time needed to travel between planets. If you have something else you use, feel free to drop it in a comment and I'll check it out :D  
>    
> _Anyways,_ I hope y'all enjoyed this latest installation of the fic. Y'all have _**no idea**_ how hard it was to keep from updating this earlier than today. I'm _trying_ to keep this fic on a once a week update schedule bc I have a **HUGE** test coming up at the end of March that's gonna start eating away at my time soon (I'm gonna have to start dedicating like... at least three hours a day to studying after I get off work and more than that on weekends so idk how much time I'm gonna have to write these next two months) so I'm trying to ration the writing I _already_ have done so that it can tide y'all over until I can get that nastiness done with an get back into the swing of things and start grinding this thing out again. 
> 
> Please drop kudos and comments if you liked this bc they _**~~give me life~~**_ incentivize me to keep writing this thing since I know people other than me like the story of phoenix!Obi-Wan and I'm not just blathering to the wind.
> 
> Happy Friday!!


	3. Rise, Knight Kenobi

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I died, didn’t I?” Panic flares in Obi-Wan’s chest and he looks from his master to Anakin, reaching for the boy’s mind in the Force instinctively to check– “He’s asleep,” his master reassures, knowing already what Obi-Wan’s worried about. “I made sure.”
> 
> The panic recedes, dying down to be replaced by the pain, the anguish, the loss that’s been lurking in the background all these months waiting to be felt, held at bay only by Anakin’s presence, by Obi-Wan’s constant activity and need to care for the boy. One benefit of having no time for himself has been that he’s had no time to feel. But now it all crashes down on him and he chokes on it. Can barely breathe past the pain. “ _Yes._ ” He tries to swallow the lump in his throat but can’t. “ _I felt your heart **stop.**_ ”
> 
> Qui-Gon doesn’t look surprised by this, doesn’t even seem upset by the news of his death. Obi-Wan wants to scream, wants to cry, wants to hit his master. He knows his master's a follower of the Living Force, remembers all those years ago on Arorua when he told him that when it came his time to die he would go gladly for it would be the will of the Force, but Obi-Wan _**can’t.**_

They don’t stay on Naboo for the peace celebrations. Obi-Wan stumbles back into the main flight hangar, Qui-Gon’s limp – but _alive_ – body in his arms and screams for a medic, and they’re rushed to the palace’s medical wing. Qui-Gon is submerged into a bacta tank immediately, and the medic looks at Obi-Wan with wide eyes and tells him she doesn’t know _how_ he is still alive with his injuries. Obi-Wan smiles grimly and tells her it is by the will of the Force, even though he had _felt_ Qui-Gon’s heart stop and his Force presence slip away in his own arms. The Council orders them back to the Temple so that Obi-Wan can give his full report in person and Qui-Gon can receive further medical care in the Halls of Healing under the watchful eyes of the Jedi Healers there. Padme is kind enough to lend them a space cruiser with a portable bacta tank. 

Anakin is uncharacteristically silent for most of the trip back to Coruscant. Where before the boy had been insatiable, asking questions left and right and requiring constant stimulation, now he mostly sits quietly in the cockpit with Obi-Wan. The mood is somber and not many words are said. They spend a lot of time in the medical bay, watching Qui-Gon’s body suspended in the bacta tank. As if waiting for him to open his eyes and demand to be taken out at any moment. The gaping wound in his side yet to close negates that hope. 

When they land, the healers quickly move his master to the Halls of Healing and Obi-Wan barely stops himself from following. He knows he’s expected to report immediately to the Council on arrival. Anakin looks torn between following after Qui-Gon and following him, but he hesitates only for a few moments before trailing after Obi-Wan, falling a few steps behind him in silence. Obi-Wan stops, turns, and holds out his hand. The boy’s shock is palpable, but so is his relief as he reaches forward and grabs Obi-Wan’s hand like a lifeline. They walk hand in hand until just before the Council chamber doors, where Obi-Wan gives Anakin’s hand a squeeze before letting go. The boy looks like he’s about to reach out and grab his hand back again, but stops himself at the last second. Obi-Wan drops his shields enough to send a flare of reassurance through the Force and watches the boy blink in shock before smiling beautifully, his whole face lighting up. It’s almost a shame to raise his shields back up, but he does, turning and letting himself into the Council chambers. 

The room looks no different than it did the last time he was here, but it feels worlds different. He feels his master’s absence like a phantom limb; the silence in the back of his mind where Qui-Gon should be is stifling. _Silence, not emptiness_ , he reminds himself, and lifts his chin. Qui-Gon is injured, _not_ dead. 

And Obi-Wan will make sure Anakin is trained, no matter what. 

* * *

It turns out that defeating the first Sith Lord in a millennium is enough to count as your Trials. His fingers twist in his padawan braid, still worn despite the fact that the Council has granted him the title of Knight. They had offered to cut it for him, to give him an official Knighting ceremony even, Grand Master Yoda humming his acquiescence, but Obi-Wan had declined. A tribute to his maverick of a master, he’d said: he would forgo the traditional Knighting ceremony and have his Master sever his braid himself when Qui-Gon awoke. Until then, he would wait. He had waited twelve years, after all, what was a few more months? 

It also turns out that Qui-Gon’s reputation paired with Obi-Wan’s new esteem was enough to sway the Council into agreeing to let the Jedi Master train Anakin. After all, if Master Qui-Gon Jinn could train a _Sith-slayer_ , who’s to say he couldn’t train the too-old **Chosen One**? His master will never let him hear the end of it when he wakes up. 

Of course, now that leaves them with the issue of what to do with Anakin – and him – until Qui-Gon wakes up. 

Obi-Wan has been awarded the rank of Knight, so he is to move out of the rooms he shares with Qui-Gon and into a room of his own. It’ll be nice to join the rank of the other Knights, to have a space near all his agemates. He is one of the last to be graduated, after all. But he can’t help the melancholy at the thought of moving out of his room, his home for the last twelve years. He has little in terms of personal effects – a few cases of teas collected from their travels across the galaxy, some interesting rock and fossil specimens, a few prizes scrolls – but the space itself has come to feel like it belongs to him. But he knows that’s ridiculous, knows that the room belongs to whoever is Master Jinn’s student or whatever student of whatever master is assigned this room next. Still…

He sighs as he places the last of his things into a bag. They all fit into a duffel bag, and he would think it sad that the entirety of his life could fit into the contents of a single bag except that is the Jedi way. When he turns, Anakin stands in the doorway, looking uncertain. 

“Is this really going to be my room now?” he asks, looking around as though he can’t believe it. Obi-Wan expects to feel a twinge of jealousy, of anger, of bitterness at that. Expects to feel replaced. He doesn’t. He gestures the boy over to sit on the bed beside him. Anakin comes easily, sidling up much closer than Obi-Wan was expecting, practically burrowing into his side. It’s somewhat uncomfortable, far more contact than Obi-Wan is used to, but he deals with it. The boy spent many years with his mother, after all. He is used to such casual affection. 

“Yes,” he hums, looking around his once room with nostalgia. “This is your new room, and the other one is Master Jinn’s room. You can tell because it’s absolutely chaotic and overflowing with plants.”

Anakin cranes his neck to look around through the doorway, as though he can see into Qui-Gon’s room from here. He frowns and looks up at Obi-Wan. “But then where’s your room?”

Obi-Wan smiles, reaching up and ruffling Anakin’s hair, and this comes easily. “I have a separate room among the Knight’s sector of the temple. It’s not too far from here,” he offers reassuringly. 

“Oh,” Anakin whispers, visibly drooping, his eyes falling to his hands in his lap. He goes quiet then, and it’s so uncharacteristic for Anakin that Obi-Wan finds himself speaking to fill the silence. 

“We must cut your hair into the standard padawan haircut,” Obi-Wan says, feeling somewhat nervous. Anakin looks back up at him curiously, so he continues, “Now, normally Master Jinn would be the one to do this, but – as he will be indisposed for some time – if you would like I will braid your padawan braid. If not, you may braid it yourself and he can formally braid it when he wakes up.”

Anakin’s eyes go wide. “You’d braid it for me?”

And well, there’s not much Obi-Wan can say to that except, “Yes, of course.”

And so he does. He cuts the boy’s golden hair into the short shorn traditional padawan style, leaving behind a small segment of longer hair that he then plaits into a braid. It’s a short little thing, barely able to hold the tie he uses to bind it, but Anakin’s eyes light up when it’s done and his fingers touch the braid reverently. “Will mine grow as long as yours?” he asks, looking up at Obi-Wan’s in awe, and Obi-Wan has always hated how long his padawan braid is, always taking it as a sign of how _inadequate_ he is, how little his master thinks of him, keeping him an apprentice for so long. But now he takes **pride** in its length, in all the years he’s spent learning and _growing_. 

He smiles. “Maybe if you’re lucky.”

Anakin smiles back at him and Obi-Wan feels lighter than he has since the forest before the battle in Theed, when his master had told him what a great Jedi Knight he thought he would become. It’s a momentary reprieve from the heaviness weighing him down, there and gone again in a few breaths, but he cherishes it all the same. 

He cleans the bathroom up afterward, shutting the light off and looking at the time. It’s getting late. “We should go to bed soon,” he hums, and he immediately feels Anakin’s panic flare in the Force. Blinking in surprise, he looks down at the boy to find him worrying at his lip, looking at his room with trepidation. “Anakin, what’s wrong?”

The boy startles, as though forgetting he was there in his panic. He looks at him then back to his room then back up at Obi-Wan. “I just – this is the first night I’m going to spend alone since we left Tatooine… I’m… I’m scared.”

And Obi-Wan knows he shouldn’t, knows he should let Anakin stay here and adjust to his new surroundings, his new _home_. Knows he needs to get the boy accustomed to the level of cool detachment is going to feel here in the Temple – so different from the warmth and easy affection he’s used to from before – but he’s just a **_child_** taken away from his mother and everything he knows. And perhaps Obi-Wan feels a bit scared himself at the thought of spending his first true night alone in over twelve years. “You can stay with me tonight,” he offers before he can think better of it. The look Anakin gives him is almost enough to make him forget. Forget what the boy is, the _danger_ he poses to him. Forget how it is they got here, where Qui-Gon is and why _exactly_ Obi-Wan and the boy are so alone. Forget that he’s supposed to be adhering to the Code: there is no emotion, only peace. 

“Yeah?” Anakin asks, like he thinks Obi-Wan is going to laugh and tell him he’s lying, that it’s all one cruel joke. 

“Yeah,” Obi-Wan agrees. The boy has to learn where his room is anyways. 

Anakin grabs a pillow from his room and rushes back to him, grabbing his hand quickly. “Well come on, then. I’m tired.” 

* * *

Somehow one night turns into two, turns into three, turns into a week. Despite the fact that he’s a new Knight and should be going on solo missions, the Council seems to have decided that he’s in charge of Anakin until Qui-Gon is back in commission. He supposes that’s fair since he helped convince them to take the boy in. It doesn’t make it easier when he wakes up every morning to a _dianoga_ child wrapped around him, arms and legs a vice grip that refuse to _release_. How a twelve year old could be so **strong** , he’s not sure. It probably comes from working on droids so much. Yet when Anakin blinks his eyes open every morning, Obi-Wan sees the dragon lurking in those azure depths and wonders if his strength comes from a predator latching onto its prey. He always swallows the dread down and shoves the boy away, grouching that “This is the last time, Anakin, I mean it.” 

It doesn’t stop there, of course. Every aspect of his life is suddenly entwined with the boy’s. He’s now got a permanent meal buddy, though he can’t pawn that off on anyone else because the few time’s he’s tried Anakin has refused to eat anything. His morning meditation becomes far less relaxing with Anakin buzzing nearby, a fount of endless energy that can’t seem to sit still long enough to meditate no matter how much Obi-Wan asks him to try. He can’t even drop him off for classes – something he learns after that first day when the teachers pull him aside to tell him that Anakin **_can’t read_. **

So no, his days are spent trying to catch the boy up to the basic levels of knowledge that his agemates have had for years but have been denied Anakin because he had been raised a slave. He can feel the boy’s frustration rolling off him as he struggles day in and day out, trying to pick up something he knows he should already be able to do all while gazing longingly at where the other kids do katas in the training rooms. 

“When do I get to do _that?_ ” he whispers reverently when he sees a pair of senior padawans sparring in the evening. The naked _want_ in his eyes when he looks up at Obi-Wan is amusing, and he chuckles. 

“Let's focus on getting you through the first form kata before we try for anything else, yeah?” Obi-Wan offers, and watches Anakin’s eyes light up at the promise of actual lightsaber training. 

“Really?” his voice rings through the halls and several masters, knights, and padawans turn to look at them incredulously. “You mean it Obi-Wan? You’re not just teasing are you? Because if you are, I'm gonna _cry_.” 

Obi-Wan touches his chin as though in thought, hiding his grin. “Well we can’t have that now, can we.”

* * *

A month passes. His master’s wound slowly patches itself closed, and the healers assure him that he’s progressing nicely. _Any day now,_ they tell him. It doesn’t make the worry twisting his stomach in knots relax. 

Anakin has become a permanent fixture at Obi-Wan’s side, so much so that people have stopped looking at him questioningly when they see the young boy tailing him in the halls. He’s a constant stream of energy, glowing in the Force with a radiance that is near blinding when he is excited about something, and a twisting shadow when he is sullen. Obi-Wan finds the boy tends to be more the latter whenever he attempts to have another knight or master assume the boy’s lessons for a time. It doesn’t matter who the other teacher is, whether it be Knight Mundi trying to lead the boy through his katas or Grand Master Yoda attempting to teach the boy meditation. Every time Anakin returns from his lessons from the other instructors, there’s a dark air about him in the Force, and the dragon coils restlessly in his eyes. It’s all Obi-Wan can do to keep the flames from igniting on his skin in defense in those moments, to keep his hands steady when Anakin throws himself forward and clings to him. 

“Why won’t you let the others teach you, Anakin?” he finally asks one night, the dark of his room giving him the courage where he could not find it during the day. Anakin is quiet where he’s pressed against him, arms wrapped around his torso, clinging like a twenchok wrapped around its prey. He could almost think the boy was asleep if not for how he can feel the boy’s Force signature shifting around them, turbulent as ever. They really need to work on the boy’s shielding. 

“I don’t want them to teach me,” he says finally, tiny arms tightening around Obi-Wan all the more and the Knight has to fight down the feeling of being _trapped_ , reminding himself that Anakin is but a child seeking comfort not the beast living within him. “They’re not supposed to be the ones who teach me: **you** are. I can _feel_ it.”

Obi-Wan sighs, reaching a hand up to scrub at his face. He suddenly feels too exhausted to be having this conversation. “Anakin,” he starts, “when Master Jinn wakes up, you know that _he_ will be the one to teach you? _He_ is your Master, not me.”

Anakin goes tense against him, body hard and unyielding like durasteel. His grip on Obi-Wan tightens and it’s almost painful, his ribs smarting from the pressure. “I am no _slave_ . I _have_ no **master** ,” the boy snarls, and it sounds _inhuman_. Obi-Wan swallows, looking down and sees black scales and cold fire and darkness in azure eyes. 

* * *

They don’t talk about it. Don’t speak about the terror that had clawed its way up Obi-Wan’s throat so hot and burning he could feel it tingling in his fingertips, in his toes, the flames licking there about to combust. Don’t talk about how his hands shook when they touched Anakin’s shoulder, how they trembled as he pushed down his terror and only sent out wave after wave of calm and reassurance into the Force, again and again until the darkness seeped from Anakin’s eyes. Don’t talk about how Anakin shuddered and looked _lost_ , radiating confusion and fear into the Force and clung to Obi-Wan tightly, burying his face in his chest and refusing to move the rest of the night. 

They don’t talk about it. 

Except they _have_ to, because this is going to be a **problem** that comes up frequently in the Temple. 

Obi-Wan waits until Anakin is calm the next morning. He makes them breakfast in his tiny kitchenette, not willing to have this conversation in the mess halls of the Temple where anyone can hear. He’s not a particularly good cook, but he’s better than Master Jinn and he can put together basic things. Anakin still looks amazed when he slides the plate of pancakes before him. They’re nowhere near as textbook as the ones at Dex’s – and he’ll have to take the boy to Dex’s sometime, later when things have calmed down more. They’re wonky and misshapen, and some are irregularly colored, but Anakin scarves them down all the same, looking so blissfully happy and _young_ that Obi-Wan can almost forget the terror he’d felt last night. The **danger** lurking behind those eyes. 

He slips into the chair across from Anakin. “You are no longer a slave,” he says bluntly, not willing to beat around the bush. He watches Anakin flag, the bite of pancake he was about to take stopping short. The boy looks at his pancakes like they’re a _lie_ , putting his fork down and looking uncomfortable, like he wants to run. “You are no longer a slave, Anakin. And **no one** will treat you like one.”

Anakin purses his lips, arms coming up to hug his chest. Obi-Wan recognizes it for the defensive position it is, can see how Anakin is withdrawing into himself. “They want me to call them _master_ .” His voice is so small, so unlike the boisterous boy he normally is, so able to fill a room with his very presence. He shoots Obi-Wan a look and it’s full of fear and loathing. “They say I’m not a slave anymore, but they want me to call them **_master_ **.” He spits the word out like it’s the filthiest word he can possibly imagine. It likely is.

And Obi-Wan can see how that would be a problem for someone with Anakin’s background, how the meaning behind the word is different for Anakin than it is for Obi-Wan. It’s amazing how no one else has thought about this little detail that has obviously been weighing on the boy’s psyche so heavily. “You are no longer a slave, Anakin. I _swear_ it. I know it doesn’t change what you’ve been through, but know that we _never_ meant to hurt you when we asked you to call us master. We were just not thinking of what it would mean to you, and that was _our_ mistake. To us, the word master is a sign of **respect** , a title earned after you have proven yourself to be exemplary of the Code and of the Order. It does not mean the same to you.” He sighs, leaning back in his chair and running a hand through his hair. “I will speak to the Council and explain the situation to them. I am sure that they will understand. With your background it would be cruel to make you use the title so soon. Perhaps with time, you will come to view the word as we do, but it is unjust to make you address us so when it causes you such obvious distress.”

Anakin is chewing his lip when Obi-Wan looks up. “So… you’re not mad?”

Obi-Wan smiles. “No, of course not. There is nothing to be angry about, Anakin. And if there were, I would simply release it into the Force for there is no emotion, there is peace.

They’re quiet for a moment. “You’re a really good teacher.”

Pride blooms in Obi-Wan’s chest, and he lets it rest there a moment before he releases it. “Thank you. I hope to one day be as great a master to a padawan as Master Jinn was to me.” And he _swears_ he will **never** make his padawan feel unwanted; though he knows _now_ that Master Jinn cares for him, the sting of all those years and the feelings of inadequacy are things he _never_ wishes for his future apprentice, whoever they may be. 

A flare of **jealousy** shoots through the Force, bright and burning, and Obi-Wan’s eyes widen as Anakin savagely stabs his pancakes, shoveling a bite into his mouth. Their eyes meet, the Duinuogwuin _**seething**_ in the boy’s eyes, and all words turn to ash on his tongue. 

His breakfast goes untouched. 

* * *

One month bleeds into two, and the healers finally pull his master’s body from the bacta tank. He still doesn’t wake up, but his heart beats steady and strong on the monitors and he breathes with only a bag valve mask not intubation. They tell him that’s _incredible_ , that normally patients in comas lose their respiratory drive and need to be put on a ventilator to keep breathing. Obi-Wan keeps telling himself that it’s alright to **hope**. 

Anakin is a remarkably bright boy. Even before coming to the temple, he had been fluent in three languages, so it should come as no surprise that given the opportunity to learn under proper tutelage he _thrives_. He picks up reading with a speed that astounds Master Jocasta Nu, whom Obi-Wan had recruited to his mission to educate the boy once he realized the gaps in his education. The Chief Librarian had provided him with many instructional holobooks and holovids on basic reading and writing that proved invaluable. Anakin soaks up information like a desert flower, voracious and eager. 

Nothing comes easier to the boy than lightsaber dueling, though. If Obi-Wan had been impressed at how quickly the boy was progressing with his other studies, he is _floored_ by how Anakin soars through the katas for the first form. Already he’s progressing into the second form, and he’s begging Obi-Wan to let him start dueling the other padawans. Obi-Wan is loath to let him do so, because he knows that Anakin’s agemates are wary of him for all the special attention he’s been getting from the Masters, for all the distance that’s between them and the special circumstances of his joining the Order. But he also knows the longer he delays the boy’s joining the clan, the harder it will be for him to make friends, especially since so many of his agemates are already padawans with Masters of their own that take them from the Temple for missions and leave them little time to socialize. But… Anakin’s temper is not something to be overlooked, an obstacle to the boy’s integration that Obi-Wan worries about. For all that the boy can be social, a shining beacon in the Force that draws people to him when he’s in a good mood, when he’s brooding or upset he can be a turbulent maelstrom that upsets even the more shielded Knights and Masters, let alone the more _vulnerable_ padawans, so strong is the boy in the Force. 

“I think we should work on shielding today,” he says over breakfast, hands clasped together on top of the table. They’re eating in his small kitchenette again, scrambled eggs and a bowl of sliced assorted fruits. Somehow it’s become a habit now for them to eat breakfast in the quiet of Obi-Wan’s apartment, just the two of them talking over the agenda of the day and what exactly Obi-Wan wants Anakin’s lesson to cover. 

Anakin scoops out a grape, biting into it and Obi-Wan can hear it pop in the boy’s mouth, watching as he happily munches away. He knows the boy loves grapes, loves the way they explode in his mouth in a burst of liquid. He’d told him so a few weeks ago, told him that grapes were a rarity on Tatooine due to their high liquid content, and Obi-Wan has not too subtly been making sure that their daily menu includes a good amount of grapes each week. He can’t get them every day, but when he does he always gives Anakin the bigger portion of food. Neither of them comments on it, but the boy always seems brighter in the Force on those days, always throws himself into his studies with more vigor. “What’s that?”

Obi-Wan gives him a chiding look. “Anakin, I know for a fact that Grand Master Yoda went over this with you earlier this week when you meditated with him.”

Anakin at least has the grace to look embarrassed, pushing a pear slice around his bowl rather than meet Obi-Wan’s disapproving stare. “I know. It’s just so _hard_ to understand what he’s saying sometimes.” And, well, it’s hard to argue with that logic. The Grand Master is confusing at best, infuriatingly cryptic at worst and even despite being raised in the Temple Obi-Wan finds he has trouble understanding the green creature at times. 

He sighs. “Shielding,” he says and watches how Anakin immediately perks up when he realizes that Obi-Wan is no longer upset with him, eyes sparkling and attention fixed on the Knight, “is a very advanced skill we Jedi can learn to do.” He smiles at how Anakin’s eyes widen at the word _advanced_ , his excitement palpable. “All Jedi are to some extent telepathic, able to sense – if not the thoughts of others – then their emotions through the Force. A very skilled user can create what we call a telepathic shield that isolates their own brain waves, cutting off their thoughts and emotions so that other Force-sensitives cannot sense them in the Force unless they want them to, or unless the other person is especially powerful in the Force.”

Anakin’s nose scrunched up in thought as he tried to process it all, and Obi-Wan stayed silent, letting him think it through. It was best to let the boy puzzle his way through things alone and only answer questions when he asked them. It encouraged him to piece things together himself, to learn for himself and not rely entirely on others for the answers. It was the most useful skill Qui-Gon had taught Obi-Wan, and he wants to teach it to Anakin early on. Finally, Anakin’s face relaxes slightly. “So,” he says, hesitant, “it’s like keeping a _secret_?”

Obi-Wan thinks of his true nature, of the creature inside him that he has kept hidden from the Council, from the world his entire life, his shields raised so high, so tight even as a child that the Masters had been impressed by his control. He thinks of the years of hiding, of _lying_ , pretending to be something he’s **not**. _There is no emotion, there is peace_ , the Code says, even though he is nothing _but_ emotion, a creature of fire and passion burning, _burning_ , **_burning_**. 

He smiles. “Think of it as less trying to keep a secret and more trying to protect something _precious_ to you from those who would try to _take it away_.”

Anakin, for all that he is bad at meditating, takes to shielding as well as Obi-Wan thought he would. It shouldn’t be surprising, really. The boy in his heart of hearts wants to protect everyone, after all. 

* * *

Obi-Wan corrects Anakin’s stance, using his foot to push the other’s stance out wider, trying to stabilize the boy’s positioning. For all that he’s taking to lightsaber dueling like a fish to water, he rushes things, his natural talent making him impatient. Obi-Wan can sympathize; he remembers being young and having lifetimes’ worth of training and memories in his head, pushing his body faster than it should go because he was convinced that he _knew_ how to do it all already. He taps at the boy’s thighs with a wooden rod, checking the stability of his horse stance now. A muscle quivers from the stimulation, but Anakin remains standing solid, no longer wavering in place at the slightest of provocations. Obi-Wan hums his approval. “Good; _again_.” 

Anakin grins in delight before nodding, standing up straight and moving to the other side of the mat. He gives a bow before swinging his training saber down and starting the kata. Obi-Wan watches critically as the boy moves methodically, still eager but obviously trying to slow himself down, mindful of the corrections he’s been given. Already Obi-Wan can see the improvements he’s made in the week they’ve been working on form two. He smiles. 

The door to the training room opens with a _hiss_ , and a padawan from the Halls of Healing bows low. “My apologies, Knight Kenobi, but Healer Che has sent me to tell you that Master Jinn has woken up at last. He is asking for you and Padawan Skywalker.”

Behind him, he hears Anakin’s training saber turn off and feels him explode with joy and relief in the Force. It takes all his self control not to do the same, his hands tucked into his sleeves in front of him clasping his forearms and _digging_ into meaty flesh to ground himself as he fights to keep control of his shields and keep the flames from dancing across his skin in his elation. He bows in turn. “Thank you Padawan Karrhn, we will be on our way presently.” The healer padawan bows in acknowledgement and leaves. 

Anakin, when he turns to him, is beaming, and the boy quickly closes the distance between them, throwing himself into Obi-Wan’s arms. The Knight barely has time to catch the boy, let alone chide him for such open affection – he’s still working on breaking Anakin of his habit, blast him. “Qui-Gon’s awake!” The boy cheers, looking up at Obi-Wan, and his eyes are shining and clear, the Force golden and singing around the boy, and it’s so easy in moments like this to forget why Obi-Wan needs to be careful, needs to be scared. 

Despite himself, Obi-Wan finds himself smiling, naturally reacting to the boy’s joy that reflects his own. “Yes, he finally is. We mustn’t keep him waiting.” 

Anakin practically drags him through the halls, hand clasping Obi-Wan’s as he runs them all the way to the Halls of Healing. Master Che looks at them disapprovingly when they burst through the doors, and Obi-Wan has to put a hand on the boy’s shoulder to keep him from running around the med bay. He’s fairly certain Master Che would find that more than enough reason to kick them out of the Halls before they can even _see_ Qui-Gon. He gives the Master a deep bow of respect, watching her roll her eyes before she turns back to her work. 

He keeps his hand on Anakin’s shoulder to make sure he doesn’t run off as he steers them calmly back toward the room where they’ve been keeping Master Jinn. And when they get into the room, for the first time in _months_ Obi-Wan isn’t greeted by the sight of his Master’s unconscious body hooked up to machines, the unnatural silence of the room broken only by the beeping and hiss of all the monitors and pumps hooked into Qui-Gon. Instead, Qui-Gon is propped up in bed looking out a window. His face is drawn and sallow, his hair dull and brittle. His eyes look sunken and he looks dwarfed in the bed, these months of inactivity leading to muscle atrophy. 

But he’s **_alive_** , and he turns his face to look at Obi-Wan and his eyes are as bright and lively as every and before he knows what’s happening Obi-Wan is kneeling at the side of the bed, Qui-Gon’s hand cradled in both of his and he’s _sobbing_. “You’re alive,” he gasps, his voice wracked with months of grief, and he’s shaking so hard he thinks he’s moving the entire bed with him. “You’re alive, you’re alive, you’re alive.” 

Qui-Gon’s hand turns in his, his fingers carding between Obi-Wan’s. His other hand comes up as Obi-Wan looks up to cup his cheek, and Obi-Wan lets out a broken sound. “I’m alive,” he whispers, smiling. “Thanks to _you_.” 

Obi-Wan bows his head back down, pressing it to the bed just beneath their joined hands. He doesn’t let go. Qui-Gon doesn’t either. He’s vaguely aware of Anakin’s presence in the room, of his concern radiating in the Force. Of him talking with Qui-Gon for some time. He doesn’t hear any of it. 

At some time the healers come in to check Qui-Gon’s vitals and draw blood for more tests. They don’t make him let go. They bring him a chair and move him to sit beside Qui-Gon’s bed, saying it may not be very comfy but it must be better than the floor. Obi-Wan can barely feel it past the crushing _relief_ flooding through him. He can’t tear his eyes off their joined hands, can’t help the little tremors that run through him when Qui-Gon runs his thumb soothingly over the back of his palm. 

Night falls before he feels the gentle brush of Qui-Gon’s Force signature against him, and he gasps, eyes closing past tears that suddenly threaten to fall all over again. He’d… he’d thought he’d never feel this again, never feel his master’s presence in the Force again. Had held his body in his arms and felt his signature slipping through his fingers and thought that that was the last time he’d ever _feel_ Qui-Gon Jinn. He tightens his hold on Qui-Gon’s hands, looking up through blurry vision at his Master. 

His master looks worn out, leaning back heavily into the bed. His eyes heavily-lidded as he fights back sleep. Anakin lies curled up at his side on the bed, tucked against him under his arm. “I died, didn’t I?” his master asks, never one to beat around the bush. Panic flares in Obi-Wan’s chest and he looks from his master to Anakin, reaching for the boy’s mind in the Force instinctively to check – “He’s asleep,” his master reassures, knowing already what Obi-Wan’s worried about. “I made sure.” 

The panic recedes, dying down to be replaced by the pain, the anguish, the loss that’s been lurking in the background all these months waiting to be felt, held at bay only by Anakin’s presence, by Obi-Wan’s constant activity and need to care for the boy. One benefit of having no time for himself has been that he’s had no time to _feel_ . But now it all crashes down on him and he chokes on it. Can barely breathe past the pain. “ _Yes_.” He tries to swallow the lump in his throat but _can’t_ . “ _I felt your heart **stop**. _”

Qui-Gon doesn’t look surprised by this, doesn’t even seem _upset_ by the news of his death. Obi-Wan wants to scream, wants to cry, wants to hit his master. He knows his master is a follower of the Living Force, remembers all those years ago on Arorua when he told him that when it came his time to die he would go _gladly_ for it would be the will of the Force, but Obi-Wan **_can’t_ ** . He _refuses_ to lose his Master. It’s attachment, it’s **forbidden** and goes against _everything_ the Order has taught him but **He**. **Doesn’t**. **Care**. 

“I had thought as much,” Qui-Gon says finally, and he sounds thoughtful. “I felt myself slipping away and becoming one with the Force, but before I could merge with it, something told me it was not my time and drew me back.” He squeezes Obi-Wan’s hand, and a feeling of affection floods through their bond. “When I came back to my body, I felt no pain, only warmth all around me telling me I was safe and alive once more. And the Force _hummed_ , telling me that this was _right_ , that it was its will. I remember feeling this once before: on Ragoon VI.”

“Ragoon VI?” Obi-Wan parrots, lost. It hits him. “Do you mean _Quinlan_?”

Qui-Gon nods. “Yes, padawan. I believe the same thing that happened to me on Naboo happened to him. I think _you_ brought him back.” 

Obi-Wan recoils, trying to pull his hand away. Qui-Gon holds tight. “ _Me_?”

“Yes.” 

“I _can’t_ bring people back to life,” Obi-Wan insists, feeling his stomach twist. He thinks of all his past lives, of all the death he’s witnessed, of all the brothers and sisters in arms he’s lost. What Qui-Gon is saying is _unthinkable_ . Because if he can bring people back to life, then that means he could have saved all of them and he **didn’t**. 

Qui-Gon frowns. “I’ll admit, it’s just a theory of mine. But you cannot deny that it adds up. You told me before that you felt Quinlan’s heart stop in the whirlpool and I felt myself fading away on Naboo. The only common variable in both these instances was _you_ , Obi-Wan.” 

And he’s right, of course. Obi-Wan isn’t sure how, but he can feel it deep inside himself. _He_ brought them back. Could he have brought all the rest back, too?

“Whatever this is,” Qui-Gon says, sending a flare of strength and reassurance through their bond. It spreads down Obi-Wan’s spine, tingling down his fingers, driving the chill that had settled there at the thought that he might have let so many of his loved ones die unnecessarily. It’s not enough – _nothing_ will be enough, not really – but it’s a start, a reminder that at least in this life, in this moment he’s _loved_ , he’s got someone to lean on. “We will face it **together** , Padawan.”

Obi-Wan squeezes his hand in his, sending his own wave of gratitude, of affection through the bond. His smile, though small and hesitant, is hopeful. “Together, then.”

* * *

It’s several more days before Master Che is willing to release Qui-Gon from the Halls back to their own rooms. Obi-Wan finds his days split between training Anakin and trying his best to keep his master from escaping before he’s been cleared for discharge. Honestly, he hopes Anakin doesn’t turn out to be as bad a patient as his master and he are. But from the way the boy laughs at the way they find Qui-Gon tangled in the wirings of his machines, dazed from where he’s tripped and knocked himself upside the head trying to wobble out on still weak legs while the healers were attending something else, Obi-Wan doubts it. Thus the legacy of Qui-Gon Jinn and the **terrors** he calls padawans will continue to live in _infamy_ in the sacred Halls of Healing. The healers are going to take **brutal** delight the next instance they get to _stab_ him with a hypo. 

When finally Qui-Gon is recovered enough he can be taken off the constant monitors and start physical therapy, Obi-Wan can practically _feel_ the collective relief being released into the Force by all the healers. He hides his grin as he helps his master hobble his way back to his rooms, Anakin hovering along by their sides. 

Once there, he helps Qui-Gon to the couch, which the man collapses on gratefully, face drawn with exhaustion at even such a short journey. Obi-Wan moves to the kitchenette, drawing the kettle down and starts the familiar process of setting a kettle to boil, pulling Qui-Gon’s favorite blend of herbal tea down from one of the cupboards. He gestures Anakin over from where the boy had been standing uncertainly in the doorway, and he comes gratefully, sidling up to Obi-Wan’s side with curiosity in his eyes. “What’s that?” he asks, looking as Obi-Wan carefully measures out the dried leaves and flower blossoms. 

“This is pu-erh cassia, an herbal tea made by fermenting the florets of the Cassius tree,” Obi-Wan says as the kettle begins to whistle. He pulls the kettle off the heat and takes three cups out of the cupboard, pouring water into the cups before dropping the tea steepers into them. “It’s some of Qui-Gon’s favorite tea, and it’s very good for your health. Now watch _closely_ how I make this as you’ll have to do this from now on, Anakin.” 

Anakin frowns, focusing on the cups as though they are a particularly difficult sentence in a holobook he needs to work through. “Why am _I_ gonna be doing this from now on?” he grumbles, laying his chin on the counter. 

“Make sure you steep the tea for three minutes exactly, otherwise it becomes too bitter,” Obi-Wan hums instead, looking at the clock overhead. They haven’t talked about Anakin being Qui-Gon’s apprentice, not Obi-Wan’s, for several weeks now. Not since Obi-Wan had realized the boy always became silent and withdrawn, the Force around him dark and twisting following those conversations. He will leave the _pleasure_ of that conversation to his master – his _former_ master. He needs to get used to saying that now that Qui-Gon is well again, needs to come to terms with the fact that that chapter of his life is **over**. Obi-Wan twists his padawan braid around his finger in thought, a habit he’s picked up through the years. It’s about time they address _this_ , too. 

Anakin tugs on his sleeve. “It’s been three minutes.” 

Obi-Wan checks the clock. “Ah, indeed it has.” He pulls the strainers from the cups and drops them into the sink to be dealt with later. He hands a cup to Anakin. “Here, take this over to Master Jinn, please. And be _careful_ not to spill.”

“That was _one time_ ,” Anakin grouses, but he takes the cup with both hands and walks it to the couch carefully, eyes trained on the cup as he makes sure not to spill a single drop. 

Qui-Gon makes a sound of thanks as he takes the cup and Obi-Wan follows behind with his and Anakin’s cups, setting one on the table before the boy before taking a seat on the settee for himself. They sit in silence for a few moments, he and Qui-Gon sipping their tea contentedly. Anakin takes a tentative sip and makes a face, putting his cup down, and Obi-Wan hides his smile behind his cup, seeing Qui-Gon do the same. Finally, he can stand it no more. “Master, I have something important to ask you.”

“Oh?” Qui-Gon says, noncommittally, taking another sip of his tea. 

Obi-Wan sets his own cup down. “Yes.” He twists his padawan braid around a finger, watching how Qui-Gon’s eyes drift to his hand. Anakin is looking at them as well, lost. He lets his hands drop to his lap. “As I’m sure you are aware, while you were asleep the Council awarded me the title of Knight.”  
  
Qui-Gon sets his own cup down. “Yes, I am aware.” 

Obi-Wan licks his lips. “I know it is not orthodox, but as you are not known for being orthodox I do not think you can fault me.”

“Obi-Wan?”

“I wish for you to cut my padawan braid.” He takes a breath, releases it. “I know it is customary for the High Council to do so, but when they awarded me my title I asked them to allow you this and they gave their blessing. So I ask, Master, will you do me the _honor_ of Knighting me tonight?”

This time the pride that surges up isn’t just in their training bond, it’s in Qui-Gon’s Force signature itself. Anakin looks at the older man with a grin stretching across his face, glowing in the Force, but his joy is nearly overpowered by that of master and apprentice in that moment. “I can think of no **greater** honor,” Qui-Gon says, voice thick with emotions. He holds a hand out to Anakin, letting the boy help pull him up and then holding onto the boy’s shoulder as they move around the couch to an open spot in the room. 

Obi-Wan himself stands, unclipping Qui-Gon’s lightsaber from where he’s kept it attached to his belt all these months for this very purpose, and he hands it back to his master. He will have to travel to Ilum to forge a new lightsaber, he thinks dazedly, his belt suddenly feeling far too light and empty. His mind goes blank as Qui-Gon clears his throat.

"We are all Jedi,” Qui-Gon entones, the air growing heavy with the ancient words of the ceremony. Even Anakin grows silent, sensing the seriousness of this moment in the Force around them and his ever-vibrant presence dulls to a somber, humble note; this is Obi-Wan’s moment, not his. “The Force speaks through us. Through our actions, the Force proclaims itself and what is real. Today we are here to acknowledge what the Force has proclaimed."

“Obi-Wan Kenobi,” Qui-Gon names him, and Obi-Wan lowers himself to the floor. This is nothing like how he’d envisioned this ceremony all those years as a padawan, this is not how he’d imagined such a monumental moment of his life going. He’d imagined himself ascending to the heart of the Tranquility Spire on his assigned day and meditating for the customary full day. He imagined having a Force vision detailing some _grand_ future filled with **adventure** and _significance_ in the greater scheme of the galaxy, just as all padawans dream. He envisioned descending to the Hall of Knighthood into the darkened chamber and kneeling in the center of the room before all the Masters, watching the circle ignite all their lightsabers, igniting the room in a glow of power and serenity. He imagined Grand Master Yoda leading the ceremony, cryptic as ever but _pride_ shining in his eyes as he and Obi-Wan's Master looked down on him and recited the ancient passages used in the traditional ceremony. And then, _always_ , he imagined Qui-Gon – **Qui-Gon** , never Yoda, never any of the Council – lowering his lightsaber to just above Obi-Wan's shoulders and severing his padawan braid. 

In actuality, Qui-Gon and his old rooms are small and spartan like all rooms in the Temple, bare of nearly all personal items save some of Qui-Gon’s plants. There is no circle of Masters surrounding him, just Qui-Gon – so weak he can’t even stand on his own – and Anakin – a boy carrying a creature that may very well **kill** Obi-Wan but whom he has come to care for over the past few months regardless. It’s nothing like how Obi-Wan envisioned this moment, but he finds that the reality is far _better_ than his imaginings, the _intimacy_ of this ceremony shared between two people he has come to treasure so deeply far better than a grand ceremony before a council of Masters he barely knows. 

"By the right of the Council, by the will of the Force, I dub thee Jedi, Knight of the Republic." 

Qui-Gon’s hands shake as he brings his lightsaber down to Obi-Wan’s shoulders. When he severs Obi-Wan’s padawan braid, it falls to the floor of this place, this **home** Obi-Wan has known and loved for twelve years now.  
  
“ _Rise_ , Knight Kenobi,” Qui-Gon says, and there are tears in both of their eyes as Obi-Wan stands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter was a bit _slower_ than the past ones have been. It was necessary for the plot. I promise things will pick up a bit more next week, though!! 
> 
> Also, for people who are a bit upset by how Anakin may seem OOC with how angry and broody he can get when he's always so happy and cheerful and gets along with people in the movies... I'm gonna claim artistic license here and blame that on the darker nature of the Duinuogwuin influencing him and just accentuating what's already there and bringing it out a bit earlier. Anakin was always a creature driven by his love and his need to protect the people he loved and viewed as _his_. Due to his and Obi-Wan's natures in this fic, as well as Anakin's affinity for the Force and how attuned to it he is, he likely feels how interconnected they are, likely feels how they're a dyad and probably the ripples of how they were destined to have their paths intertwined as Master and Padawan when Qui-Gon died and it makes him _posssessive_ because he now views Obi-Wan as _**his**_. This is compounded by the fact that he's just a kid that went through a very traumatic experience (like let's talk about the battle of Naboo and how even though it was a victory, it was still a war that Anakin walked into?? and fought in?? and then had to watch Qui-Gon's battered and mangled and nearly dead body recover from?? almost immediately after being torn from his mother and home?? don't @ me that this wasn't traumatic af for my poor 12 year old Ani I'll **fight** you until the day I die). So all that adds up to make Anakin _**ATTACHED**_ in a v unhealthy way. So it may seem OOC?? But I'm cool with it bc it's IC for this verse. 
> 
> Anyways!! I!! Am!! So!! Excited!! For the next two chapters y'all!! Some Good Shit™ is coming, and I'm so **READY** for y'all to get to experience it and scream about it with me. I totally commissioned a thing for this fic and I'm biting my tongue to keep myself from just dropping it early bc it's _gorgeous_. But!! It'll be worth the wait!! So yeah. 
> 
> I hope y'all enjoyed this week's update even though it was slow. Drop a comment to let me know you did (or didn't lol, I welcome the constructive criticism too ~~even if I'm a baby who sometimes cries over it even tho I still want and need it~~ ) and see y'all next week~


	4. Ilum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What are you _thinking_ , Obi-Wan?” Qui-Gon hisses, and Obi-Wan can feel his fury, yes, but he can also feel other things: panic, fear, frustration, shock, awe, worry. He reminds himself that Qui-Gon’s anger is born of his love, his concern over Obi-Wan’s wellbeing. 
> 
> “If I’m being honest, Master,” Obi-Wan laughs, and it sounds a little hysterical even to him, “ _I have no kriffing idea._ ”
> 
> That makes Qui-Gon hesitate, his anger waning under Obi-Wan’s honesty and blatant panic. He steps forward, laying a hand on his former padawan’s shoulder. “The boy is a great danger to you, Obi-Wan. You must be careful around him. You cannot get too attached, my former apprentice. You have too kind a heart, and I fear this will be your undoing.”
> 
> Obi-Wan sighs, his hand coming up to rest over Qui-Gon’s. His eyes are sad when they meet his former master’s. “I know, Master. I see it in his eyes every time he gets like that. I see what is inside him and it _terrifies_ me.” He swallows, smiling shakily. “But I also see the **boy.** He was all I had to keep me together at times, the only thing that kept me from falling apart with the fear and pain of having nearly lost you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LISTEN Y'ALL!! I _**REALLY**_ FUCKING LOVE THIS CHAPTER OKAY!! LIKE!! _MY ILUM SCENE?!_ ONE OF MY **BEST** SCENES IN THIS FIC SO FAR!! IT'S JUST -chefs kiss- _**INCREDIBLE!!**_ SO I REALLY HOPE YOU ALL ENJOY THIS CHAPTER AS MUCH AS I DO!! BC I'VE BEEN WAITING FOR THIS WEEK SINCE I STARTED _POSTING_ THIS FIC!!

Obi-Wan spends most of the next week over in Qui-Gon and Anakin’s rooms, helping his old master and his master’s new padawan adjust. After his knighting ceremony, Anakin had been almost surprised when Obi-Wan made to leave for his own chambers that night and had put a hand on Anakin’s shoulders to stop him when he made to leave with him. “No, Anakin,” he’d told the boy. “Master Jinn has returned. This is where you belong now.” He’d turned and left, but not before he’d seen the hurt look in Anakin’s eyes. 

Since then it’s been a nightly struggle to keep Anakin in his own room. It feels like every night he wakes to find the boy sneaking into Obi-Wan’s chambers, crawling into his bed to wrap around the Knight. All the boy’s tinkerings which had been spread throughout Obi-Wan’s modest abode during the time Qui-Gon was in the Halls of Healing had been packaged and delivered to Qui-Gon’s chambers, but every day Obi-Wan feels as though bits and pieces find their way back into his kitchenette, his sitting room. He packs them up again and takes them back to Qui-Gon’s rooms without comment, feeling Anakin’s frustration every time. 

Qui-Gon may be an awful patient, but he is cooperative with physical therapy as he knows it’s the quickest way to get himself back into field condition. Obi-Wan can _feel_ the other man’s wanderlust building and knows if he’s planetside much longer he will go stir crazy. While his former master focuses on recuperating, Obi-Wan takes up the slack and continues Anakin’s training. Qui-Gon will want to be in the field sooner rather than later, and if the boy wants to go with him then he must be better prepared than he is now. 

Anakin seems torn between being indignant over Obi-Wan’s newfound distance and all the more clingy in the moments he does see him. If he thought the boy was glued to him _before_ , now he thinks even a starship tractor beam couldn’t pry the boy from his side. Anakin doesn’t even complain about accompanying Obi-Wan on his morning meditations, something that he would skip on occasion. Now he sits, side plastered against Obi-Wan’s, as though afraid if they aren’t touching the Knight will disappear. 

The only good thing to come of this newfound clinginess is that Anakin’s progress in his studies improves _tremendously_. It’s almost as if the boy feels he has to **prove** something. It’s just under three months since the battle on Naboo and already the boy is reading nearly full sentences, though he still struggles with multisyllabic words at times. His writing is ~~atrocious but~~ passable if Obi-Wan squints hard enough. And he _sours_ through the second form katas, his stances strong and sure, the corrections Obi-Wan gave holding true. When he tells Anakin he thinks perhaps it’s time he advances to the third form, the boy flings himself at him, colliding with the Knight in a near painful jostle of limbs. The boy’s joy shines effervescent in the Force as he clings to Obi-Wan, looking at him with bright eyes. “That’s the form _you_ like best, right?”

“Yes,” Obi-Wan chuckles, putting a hand on Anakin’s head to ruffle his hair. He’s given up on chiding the boy for such casual affection. Leave that to his master to train him out of such behavior; Obi-Wan has been teaching him more than enough that he can be excused from this _one_ indulgence. “It will be a good form to know when fighting with Master Jinn, too, as he prefers to use Ataru, which focuses primarily on offense. It will often fall to you to provide defensive cover.” Obi-Wan still needs to speak to his former master about Qui-Gon’s need to vary his use of forms, the man’s obvious weakness in his defense made evident in their fight with the Zabrack still too **fresh** in his mind. 

For some reason, those words dim Anakin’s glow, the once radiant shine flickering out as the boy presses his cheek against Obi-Wan’s torso to hide his face. He mumbles something in Obi-Wan’s robes, and the Knight frowns. “What was that?”

Anakin visible wavers, indecisive, before looking up at him, distressed. The dragon churns in the depths of his eyes. “I said it isn’t right. **_You’re_** supposed to be my teacher, not Qui-Gon.” 

Obi-Wan pulls away, and Anakin makes a sound of distress, reaching for him. Obi-Wan doesn’t budge though, anger on his former master’s behalf overriding the fear that always rises when the Duinuogwuin appears. “Anakin, you _must_ not say such things. Master Jinn is an incredible teacher and deserves your respect. He will do a fine job teaching you, _much_ better than I have, and I will not stand here and allow you to speak poorly of his good name when he has done **nothing** but be kind to you and fight on your behalf when all others would not.” 

Anakin’s lower lip trembles, tears welling in his eyes. “I _know_ Qui-Gon is good,” he hiccups, and tears track down his cheeks. He blinks past them, hands coming up to wrap around Obi-Wan’s wrists where they still hold him by the shoulders. “I know he’s been nothing but kind to me and fought for me and I don’t want to be mean or disrespectful to him. I’m sure he was a great teacher because he taught _you_ and _you’re_ awesome. But can’t you _feel_ it Obi-Wan?  **_You’re_ ** supposed to be my teacher, not Qui-Gon, not anyone else. I  **_know_ ** it. I can feel it in the Force just like you taught me to.”

And Obi-Wan frowns. Because if it’s truly a Force vision – which it very may well be given how strong in the Force Anakin is – then he’s not sure he _can_ argue this, can fight this. But… but he **cannot** disrespect his former master so, cannot allow Anakin to dishonor him based on a _feeling_ alone. “I do not feel it, Anakin,” he says honestly, the coldness leaving his voice, his hands softening on the boy’s shoulders. He stops pushing the boy away and Anakin immediately presses forward into him, burying his face in Obi-Wan’s robes as he cries in earnest. “I do not feel this in the Force as you claim, and I will **not** dishonor Master Jinn by allowing you to speak on it further. But I _will_ meditate about it, and if it is truly the will of the Force then it will make itself known to me. And– and we will decide what to do from there.”

He lets Anakin cry himself out into his robes, ignoring how unpleasant they feel pressing wet against his skin. He rubs a hand in soothing circles along the boy’s back as the boy lets out all his anger, his sadness, his frustration. Obi-Wan feels it all washing over him and throws up shields around the room so that the strong waves of emotion don’t scare the younglings in the creche. It would not do for them to feel this kind of negativity, especially since Anakin is doing nothing to shield these thoughts or release them into the Force. He will have to talk to Qui-Gon about working with the boy on these two skills more heavily in the coming weeks as they have been persistent areas of weakness in Anakin’s training. Further evidence of his failings as a teacher and proof that Qui-Gon will be better suited to train Anakin. 

He tries to send out feelings of calm and reassurance into the Force, even though inside him he can feel the anxiety building, the fires climbing higher with the desire to get away from the potential threat. He pushes them down; he will not leave Anakin when he is feeling so vulnerable. 

Finally, the boy seems to run out of tears, shuddering for a few long moments in Obi-Wan’s arms until even those cease. His Force signature gives off exhaustion but no longer radiates negativity. Obi-Wan allows the shields around their training room to drop. He pulls back slightly, feeling how Anakin’s arms instinctively tighten, but he only pulls back enough so he can see Anakin’s face. The boy’s eyes are swollen and red from all his crying, face blotchy. He pushes back damp golden bangs from the boy’s brow. “Feeling better?” A tentative nod. “Do you still want to learn the third form kata, or would you like to be done for today?”

“No,” Anakin croaks, voice only slightly scratchy, “I wanna learn.”

“Okay, dear one, I will teach you for today.”

And he does. He walks Anakin through the kata slowly, and the boy is more subdued than normal, his previous excitement at learning a new form no longer present. Instead he seems almost withdrawn, contemplative as he moves through the motions. Obi-Wan stops and corrects his form more times than normal, but where normally Anakin gets frustrated by his perceived failures now he merely nods. It would be worrying if Obi-Wan couldn’t feel the boy’s lingering fatigue from his earlier outburst. He lets the boy process things on his own, only speaking as needed throughout the lesson. 

When it’s over, they go back to their respective rooms to clean up in the fresher and change for dinner. Obi-Wan has been making it a point to take his meals in Qui-Gon’s and Anakin’s rooms, in part to make sure the boy eats but also to keep his former master appraised of his new padawan’s progress in training; it will make the transition easier when Qui-Gon is fully healed. 

The meal is spent mostly in silence – a rarity with Anakin around. The boy eats his meal with his eyes nearly glued to his food, and Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan have whole conversations without saying a word while they eat. A raised brow from Qui-Gon,  _ What happened? _ A slowly shrugged shoulder from Obi-Wan, _ I’m not sure. _ A furrow between Qui-Gon’s brows, _ Is he alright? _ A slight dip in Obi-Wan’s chin,  _ Yes _ . They do not communicate between their training bond anymore, the both of them having come to the agreement that it would be best if they allowed that bond to close naturally now that their master-padawan relationship has come to an end. But they have been partners for twelve years and are well versed in communicating without words. 

When Obi-Wan tells Qui-Gon how they’ve progressed to the third form, Qui-Gon makes a show of it, trying to drag the boy into the conversation, obviously trying to play on Anakin’s excitement over all things involving lightsabers. Anakin merely nods, making a noise of acknowledgement while scraping more of his food across his plate. Qui-Gon shoots him a look. _ Are you sure he’s ok? _ Obi-Wan looks at Anakin again, at the dejected slouch of his shoulders, the unhappy line of his lips. A shake of his head. _ No, I’m not sure.  _

They are silent for most of the meal after that. Obi-Wan feels conflicted, loyalty to his former master making him want to be upset with Anakin, but fondness for the boy keeping him silent. Qui-Gon can clearly tell there’s more going on that he doesn’t know about and stays quiet as well. But there’s only so much quiet Obi-Wan can stand. 

“How is your physical therapy progressing, Master Jinn?” he asks finally, forcing his voice to remain light and calm, taking a bite of his food. 

Qui-Gon arches a brow at him, clearly trying to parse together what Obi-Wan is doing with this sudden burst of conversation. “It is going well, Obi-Wan, and please, I have asked you to call me by my first name have I not?” 

Obi-Wan smiles, “Of course, Qui-Gon. How much longer do the healers think you have?”

Qui-Gon strokes at his beard. “They believe I should be cleared for missions by next week at latest. They’ve already allowed me to return to light training, so long as I promise not to strain myself too much.” 

Obi-Wan had thought as much. He smiles, strained. “I’m glad to hear it. In that case, I have been needing to make a trip to Ilum. I find myself in need of a new kyber crystal, you see. Now that you are back in good health and Anakin is just starting a new form, I think it would be a most opportune time for me to go.”

“Yes, that does –”

“You’re _leaving_?!” Anakin demands, hands slamming down on the table. His eyes are storms, the dragon seething and Obi-Wan feels the chill run down his spine, the fiery panic climbing up his throat threatening to choke him. He can practically _feel_ the defensive flames tingling along his fingers, shining in his hair. “You **can’t** leave!” The boy roars, and it sounds **bestial**. A wave of rage, a veritable supernova of dark fury erupts from him and it makes something primal in Obi-Wan scream  _ Run! _

“Anakin!” Qui-Gon snaps, and Obi-Wan feels his shields _snap_ into place around the rooms, trapping the darkness into the confined space and Obi-Wan wants to claw at the walls in desperation to get out, _out_ ,  **_out!_ ** “Stop this at once!”

“No! He **_can’t_** leave!” Anakin cries, turning to Qui-Gon and he’s crying again, fat tears rolling down his cheeks but they’re _**furious**_ where the ones in the training room before had been despairing. He grits his teeth, and they nearly look like _fangs_. “He can’t  _ leave _ me! He  **_can’t_ ** !”

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan breathes. Breathes past the fear, breathes past the panic, breathes past the instinctive need to  _ flee _ . Anakin’s gaze snaps to him and the Duinuogwuin roars in his eyes, coiled tight and mouth opened, ready to tear into Obi-Wan. He stands. He moves around the table. Kneels on the floor beside Anakin’s chair. Places a hand over Anakin’s. “Anakin, I’m  **not** abandoning you. I  _ swear _ it.” 

“You’re  _ leaving _ me,” Anakin hisses, anger in his voice, but now there’s pain, too. Pain and fear. He sounds so _young_ , looks so small. The dragon roils, a constant threat of the **danger** he may one day become, but Anakin’s lip _quivers_ and his eyes are bright with tears as he looks at Obi-Wan, pain and fear etched on his young face. “You don’t  _ want _ me anymore and now you’re going to  _**leave** _ me.”

Obi-Wan sighs, drawing Anakin close, pulling him in tight. Anakin is stiff against him, rigid for all of two breaths before he _melts_ into the hug, arms coming up to wrap around Obi-Wan’s throat and  _ cling _ as he buries his face in Obi-Wan’s neck and cries. Obi-Wan hushes him, pressing a cheek to hair as he brushes the golden strands back and rocks him gently. “Oh no, dear one. No, no,  _ no _ . That’s not it. That’s not it at all.”

Slowly, the maelstrom recedes. Anakin’s hold around Obi-Wan’s neck doesn’t loosen, and Obi-Wan closes his eyes to hold back the hysteria at having the Duinuogwuin’s arms circled around his neck so, reminding himself that this is  _ Anakin _ . Finally, the boy draws his head back to look at him, and it’s like the training room all over again, his eyes red and swollen, face blotchy from his crying, only now he’s closer to Obi-Wan’s face. His sky blue eyes are clear, the beast sleeping once more. “You promise?”

“I promise,” he says, bumping their foreheads together, startling a laugh from the boy. “I am a Jedi Knight now, Anakin, which means I have to go on missions from time to time. But that doesn’t mean that I do not care for you or that I am abandoning you, okay?”

Anakin scrunches his nose, darting his gaze over to Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan knows immediately what the boy wants to say.  _ If you were my teacher, you wouldn’t have to leave me behind.  _ He blessedly doesn’t say it, though. “Okay,” he finally agrees, bumping his forehead against Obi-Wan’s with a smile before he finally lets go. Obi-Wan ruffles his hair once, grinning at the indignant sound the boy makes before he stands, knees popping. 

Behind him, Qui-Gon’s disapproval is a cold silence that fills the room. 

Oblivious to it, Anakin pushes back from the table and looks to the Jedi Master, “Mister Qui-Gon, sir, is it okay if I sleep over at Obi-Wan’s tonight since he’s leaving for his mission tomorrow?”

Obi-Wan flinches, glad his back is turned so Qui-Gon cannot see. _Sithspit_ , the boy cannot read a room. Qui-Gon will have to teach him more tact before they start going on diplomatic missions, though from his own history as the man’s padawan he’s not sure the man will bother. 

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea, padawan,” Qui-Gon says, voice neutral but his dissatisfaction curls in the air plainly. Obi-Wan wonders if it’s really this overt or if he’s just gotten _very good_ at reading his former master after all these years. 

Anakin pouts, opening his mouth no doubt to argue and make the situation far worse than it is, but Obi-Wan finally turns, a serene smile on his face. “Oh come now, Qui-Gon. It will be just for one night.” He works hard to keep his shields strong and unyielding, cutting off even his half of their flagging training bond should Qui-Gon attempt to use that to read him. He can feel the man studying him critically, and exudes nothing but tranquility into the Force.  _ There is no emotion, only peace _ , he tells himself. It’s a **lie** , but a _convenient_ one when he’s trying to fool people with this facade of calm. 

Finally, Qui-Gon gives a grudging nod. “Very well, but just for tonight.” 

Obi-Wan nods his head in acquiescence, putting a hand on Anakin’s shoulder. “Go grab your things and wait in your room, Anakin. I will come get you when it is time to leave.”

Anakin looks between them carefully, the boy far too smart for his own good. He can tell there’s something going on between the two men, but thankfully he can’t figure out what. Obi-Wan continues to project serenity into the Force as Anakin trudges into his room and the door hisses shut behind him. 

Qui-Gon turns on him then, fury in his eyes, but Obi-Wan holds up a placating finger first and shields snap up around the two of them: it would not do for Anakin to sense what is about to take place. Once that is done, he nods, knowing there is no escaping this and that the only way out is through. 

“What are you  _ thinking _ , Obi-Wan?” Qui-Gon hisses, and Obi-Wan can feel his fury, yes, but he can also feel other things: panic, fear, frustration, shock, awe, worry. He reminds himself that Qui-Gon’s anger is born of his _love_ , his concern over Obi-Wan’s wellbeing. 

“If I’m being honest, Master,” Obi-Wan laughs, and it sounds a little hysterical even to him, “ _I have no kriffing idea_.”

That makes Qui-Gon hesitate, his anger waning under Obi-Wan’s honesty and blatant **panic**. He steps forward, laying a hand on his former padawan’s shoulder. “The boy is a great danger to you, Obi-Wan. You  **must** be careful around him. You cannot get too attached, my former apprentice. You have too kind a heart, and I fear this will be your undoing.”

Obi-Wan sighs, his hand coming up to rest over Qui-Gon’s. His eyes are sad when they meet his former master’s. “I know, Master. I see it in his eyes every time he gets like that. I see what is inside him and it  _ terrifies _ me.” He swallows, smiling shakily. “But I also see the **boy**. The one I have helped train these past three months while you were recovering. He was all I had to keep me together at times, the only thing that kept me from falling apart with the fear and pain of having nearly lost you. I have come to _care_ for him, Master. I have tried not to, but I _**do**_.”

“Force help you,” Qui-Gon whispers, and he brings his other hand up to cup Obi-Wan’s cheek. Obi-Wan’s lip wobbles, but he smiles. “You have always loved more quickly and deeply than any of us, Obi-Wan. I pray that it does not cause you any more pain than it already has. You are too good a man for a life of such suffering.”

Obi-Wan laughs. “I have lived many lives, Qui-Gon, and I have suffered in all of them for my choices. This one will be no different.”

“Let me wish for it, all the same, my son,” Qui-Gon sighs, and there’s such sadness in his voice, in his eyes as he cups Obi-Wan’s other cheek and presses a kiss to his forehead. 

They stay there for long moments, the Knight thinking of all the people he’s loved and lost across his many lifetimes and the Master wishing that there was a way he could spare the other any further heartbreak. Finally, they break apart, Qui-Gon patting Obi-Wan on the cheek tenderly before stepping back. 

“Promise me you will be careful, Obi-Wan,” he says as the Knight steps toward the boy’s room. “I cannot stop you from caring for him, but please do not forget to care for _yourself_ as well.” 

Obi-Wan smiles, flaring reassurance into the Force before releasing it. “I promise, Master. You be careful, too.”

Qui-Gon nods and watches his former padawan and new apprentice leave together, the boy vibrant and glowing in the Force, speaking a mile a minute and practically _bouncing_ as Obi-Wan nods patiently, holding his hand as Anakin all but tugs them out. 

“Please,” Qui-Gon says, closing his eyes and opening himself to the Force around him. “Please do not hurt them. _Either_ of them.” The Force hums around him, but otherwise stays silent. 

“And by the time you get back,” Anakin is saying, grinning ear to ear now as he drags Obi-Wan down the familiar halls toward the Knight’s room, “I will have gotten the katas for form three, form four,  _ and  _ form five down, just you watch.”

Obi-Wan chuckles. “And what of your readings?”

Anakin’s nose crinkles, far less enthusiastic about this part of his education, but Obi-Wan can sense that the boy is eager to please. “I’ll get through the entire holobook on the Mandalorian Wars  _ and _ the ones on Darth Revin and Darth Malick and their quest for the Star Forge.”

“Someone’s ambitious,” Obi-Wan laughs, scanning his comm to let them into his room. The door hisses behind them, and he starts pulling off his boots, Anakin following suit easily. Qui-Gon may allow shoes in his rooms, but Obi-Wan has never cared for them in his living quarters – he doesn’t want to track in all the things he’s stepped in throughout the day, thank you very much. “And you plan to get all this done before I return?”

Anakin is quiet as he undoes the laces of his boots. Obi-Wan is instantly on alert: a quiet Anakin is rarely a good sign. The boy doesn’t look up when he answers, his voice small as he picks at his laces, not quite untying them as much as fiddling with them to keep his hands busy, “If I do, will you teach me then?”

Obi-Wan sighs, running a hand through his hair, wishing he still had his padawan braid to twist and tug at in moments like this. Perhaps he should grow his hair long, just to have something to tug at. Or perhaps he should grow a beard. No, he is far too young for that. He’s only twenty-four, star’s sakes! 

He moves to sit at the ground at Anakin’s feet, hands batting the boy’s fingers away so that he can start working at the boy’s laces himself. “You know my not teaching you has _nothing_ to do with you not being **good** enough, Anakin.”

“Then **_why_**?” Anakin whines, smacking Obi-Wan’s hands away. Obi-Wan braces himself for the anger, for the darkness, but it doesn’t come, just a deep sense of **sadness**. That’s almost worse. 

He reaches out again, slowly so that Anakin can tell what he’s doing and stop him if he wants to. It almost looks like Anakin is going to slap his hands away again, but he doesn’t. Obi-Wan slips one boot off, then the other. “Let us get ready for bed. We will talk about it more then, okay?”

Anakin almost looks like he wants to argue, but he searches Obi-Wan’s eyes and must see that he’s not trying to avoid the conversation so he nods. He lets Obi-Wan pull him up from the floor and holds one hand, refusing to let go even as they go to the bathroom and start their nightly ritual of brushing their teeth. He does let go when Obi-Wan wets a washcloth to wipe his face down, taking special care to wipe away all the tear tracks from his cheeks. Under his eyes are still puffy from all the crying he’s done today. Obi-Wan thinks it’s likely the boy will cry again tonight, but he sends a prayer to the Force that it isn’t so. 

When that’s over, Anakin holds his arms out, and Obi-Wan hugs him, rubbing circles into his back. “Come on now, it’s time for bed.”

On most nights Anakin argues, trying to stay up late into the night talking and tinkering. Tonight he just nods against Obi-Wan’s chest and grabs his hand again, pulling the Knight along towards the bedroom. Obi-Wan smiles, noting that Anakin’s pillow is already here like he’d planned to sleep here tonight before all of this had happened and he feels a wave of fondness wash over him. Anakin stops at the edge of the bed and waits until Obi-Wan climbs in before following, climbing under the covers and immediately wrapping his arms around Obi-Wan’s chest, his legs tangling up with Obi-Wan’s. His head comes to rest over Obi-Wan’s heart like it _belongs_ there, the boy practically draped over the Knight. For once, Obi-Wan lets his own arms close around Anakin, hugging the boy close, and the joy that erupts in the Force is instantaneous and golden, bright enough that Obi-Wan can make out the other objects in his room from the glow. 

“Anakin, _dear one_ , you **know** I care about you very much,” Obi-Wan says, his voice low in the quiet of the room. He dares not speak any louder, for this is the kind of conversation that deserves not to be said in loud, harsh voices but soft, gentle whispers. He runs a hand up Anakin’s back and down again, seeking to comfort the boy who craves so much tactile affection. “I do not refuse to teach you because I do not think you are good enough. I _know_ you are good enough. You are smart and strong, and you pick things up far quicker than most children. You are brave and you work hard day in and day out. I know this – I _see_ this – I promise. _Any_ master here would be lucky to have you as their padawan learner.”

Anakin has been glowing steadily through all the praise, but now he shifts, propping his chin up on his hands so he can look at Obi-Wan. His eyes almost seem to glow in the dark room, lit by the golden Force around them like the sky illuminated by the sun. His blue eyes in the dark look nearly gold, lit by the glow of his power in the Force, and it’s moments like that that Obi-Wan can almost forget the creature living within him and can see the other part of him, the other destiny he carries: the Force Child. “Then _why_ won’t you teach me?” he asks, voice just as low, just as soft as Obi-Wan’s. 

The Knight sighs, Anakin rising and falling with his breath and he pushes hair from the boy’s face. “Anakin, I was a padawan myself just a few months ago; the Council has _barely_ just made me a Knight. I haven’t even gone on my first solo mission. I do not doubt your abilities as a student, dear one, I doubt **my** abilities as a teacher. You are a very smart, very talented boy, Anakin. You deserve a teacher who can keep up with your abilities, who can challenge you and help you grow to your full potential. _**I**_ would not be able to do that. I am still too _young_ , still too **new**.” Shining with the brilliance of his own power in the Force, all traces of the darkness he carries within him, Obi-Wan can understand why Qui-Gon had spoken so reverently about the Chosen One all those nights ago on Tatooine. To chain such a talent to an _inept_ teacher like Obi-Wan – to hinder his development so – would be a _travesty_. Obi-Wan would **never** allow the Council to do Anakin such a disservice. The boy deserves so much _**better**_ than Obi-Wan.

“Obi-Wan, that’s complete and total kriffing **bantha poodoo** ,” Anakin huffs, sounding almost angry. His eyes stay blessedly clear. 

“ _Language_ , Anakin,” Obi-Wan chides, feeling like an old man as he says it. 

“I won’t apologize because it’s _true_. That’s absolute **poodoo** and you know it,” Anakin grumbles, leaning up onto his elbows. It would almost be intimidating with how the boy glowers down at him… if he weren’t twelve years old and all of 35 kilos. “I know I’m just a kid and that I don’t really know a lot about the Order or the Temple and stuff, but you’ve been _way_ better at teaching me than all those other Jedi have been – even better than _**Yoda** **!**_ ”

Obi-Wan tries not to balk at the idea of someone thinking he’s a better teacher than the  _ Grand Master of the Jedi Order _ . Stars, it feels almost _sacrilegious_ just to think it. “Anakin, there’s a difference between teaching you how to do your kata and read Basic and teaching you the _complex intricacies of being a Jedi._ I may be good at this foundation work – and while I thank you for the compliment, I doubt I am anywhere _near_ as good a teacher as Grand Master Yoda – but I would be a **rubbish** teacher for the more advanced subjects. Having me as a teacher would only slow you down. Master Jinn is _far_ better suited to teach you than I, and he can teach you things I **never** could.”

“But _he’s_ not **you** ,” Anakin says, eyes burning. “Master Jinn said that you embodied the virtues of the Order in ways _he_ never could. And that there was little more that he could teach you. Anything _he_ could teach me, **you** could, too. I don’t want  _ him _ , Obi-Wan, I want  **you** .”

It makes something flutter in Obi-Wan’s heart to hear someone say that, to hear someone choose  _ him _ . Given the choice between a true Master and Obi-Wan, Anakin wants  **_him_ ** . It’s a  **terrible** decision and Obi-Wan won’t stand for it, of course, but it makes him smile, makes something warm and content unfurl in his chest. A fire burns there, soft and mild, so unlike all the others that tend to burn in him around Anakin, fueled by fear and primal instinct.  _ Love _ , he thinks to himself; this is love similar to that which he feels for Qui-Gon, for Quinlan, for Dex. Anakin  _ chooses _ him, and Obi-Wan knows in that moment that even if this boy is the Duinuogwuin fated to kill him one day, he will not part with the boy. “I know, dear one, but sometimes what we  _ want _ and what is  **best** for us are not the same things.”

Anakin frowns, huffing as he drops down to rest his chin back on Obi-Wan’s chest. “Qui-Gon isn’t best for me,  **_you_ ** are. I _feel_ it. In the Force.”

Obi-Wan sighs, carding a hand through the boy’s hair. He watches those golden lashes flutter happily at the touch before fighting to stay open, refusing to give in the fight due to distraction. “Anakin, I told you I would meditate about this and if it was truly the will of the Force, then we would deal with it accordingly. But you must  _ promise _ me that you will try your best for Master Jinn. You must be as good a student for him as you have been for me.”

“Why?” Anakin asks, petulant. 

“Because, dear one, Master Jinn was my master before he was yours. I trained under him for twelve years – nearly as long as you’ve been alive. He is the closest thing to a family – to a  _ father _ – I have ever had. Imagine if someone spoke as cruelly of your mother as you have spoken about Master Jinn. Would you not be upset as I am? Would you not want them to stop and behave themselves and treat your mother with the utmost respect?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Anakin breathes immediately, looking instantly guilty. He looks away from Obi-Wan, fingers worrying at the hemline of Obi-Wan’s sleep robes nervously. “I’m sorry I was so mean to Qui-Gon earlier. I’ll be better. And I promise I’ll be as good a student for him as I am for you.” 

“Thank you,” Obi-Wan hums, ruffling his hair affectionately. 

Anakin makes an indignant sound, swatting his hands away but there is no heat to it. He props himself up on his elbows and looks down at Obi-Wan, expression serious. “I promise I’ll be good while you’re gone, but you have to promise you’ll try really, _really_ hard and meditate.” 

Obi-Wan laughs, amused despite himself. “The trip to Ilum is four days one way, and the first three are along well established spaceways until you get to the Utegetu Nebula. I will have _plenty_ of time to meditate, Anakin, I promise.”

“Okay,” Anakin nods, seeming satisfied with that answer. He collapses back down to Obi-Wan’s chest, laying so his ear rests once more over Obi-Wan’s heart, arms snaking to wrap around and hold him tight. It’s not nearly as overbearing as it once was, the boy’s weight familiar and comforting. Obi-Wan thinks he might even _miss_ it once he leaves. 

He closes his eyes and they fall silent, the weight of the day finally catching up to them. Obi-Wan lets his breaths start to lengthen, his body sinking into the mattress. Before he slips into a meditative state precluding sleep, he hears Anakin whisper, “I _know_ we’re meant to be together. I just  **_know_ ** it.” In the darkness, it feels like a promise. 

* * *

The next morning is a somber event. Anakin is quiet throughout breakfast. Obi-Wan tries to shoo him along for lessons with Qui-Gon while he packs for Ilum, but he doesn’t try all  _ that _ hard, especially when he sees the sorrow lingering in the boy’s normally bright eyes. Anakin hovers about his apartment as Obi-Wan packs what few things he might need: sub-zero snow gear, a few weapons as he has no saber to defend himself, rations, and a medpack. The familiar act of packing a travel bag is soothing after all these years, the process of thinking about what he needs, what things he might encounter, and planning for possible hazards along the way almost meditative. It helps distract him from the steadily more depressed boy sitting on his bed, watching his every move like he’s trying to etch him into his memory. 

When finally he’s packed, he slings the bag over his shoulder and smiles at Anakin, holding out a hand. “Come. I want to say goodbye to Qui-Gon before I leave.”

Anakin takes his hand and lets him pull him from the bed, and they leave his room in silence. They make the walk from Obi-Wan’s room to Qui-Gon’s like this, Anakin always a step behind Obi-Wan, his gaze lowered to the floor. It’s so out of character for the normally sunny boy that everyone they pass keeps shooting Obi-Wan questioning glances, understanding lighting their faces when they see the pack on his back. Near the whole Temple by now knows how attached young Skywalker is to Knight Kenobi – both literally and figuratively. 

Obi-Wan knocks on Qui-Gon’s door, and it opens shortly after. Qui-Gon arches a brow. “You know your code still works, right?” 

Obi-Wan grins sheepishly. “Yes, well it seemed rude to let myself in. 

“Nonsense,” Qui-Gon hums. “This is your home.”

Warmth blooms in Obi-Wan’s chest, and he smiles before the expression falters, his gaze flicking down to Anakin. “I wanted to stop by and say goodbye before I leave for Ilum.”

Qui-Gon’s gaze follows his down to the boy who still hasn’t looked up from the ground, his hand still clasped tightly around Obi-Wan’s. “Oh yes, well, let us walk you down to the launch bay to see you off.” Instantly Anakin seems to perk up, eyes lifting to look up at Qui-Gon, the beginnings of a smile on his lips. 

“Alright,” Obi-Wan smiles, and together they go. 

When they get to the hangar, he can practically _feel_ Anakin vibrating with curiosity and interest, eyes flicking about at all the ships. “Go on, take a look,” Obi-Wan urges, relaxing his hand and pulling away. Anakin’s clamps down like a vice grip, the interest washed away by **panic** in an instant. 

“No, it’s ok,” he mumbles, stepping closer until his side is pressed to Obi-Wan’s, their arms looped and fingers twined together. Anakin’s other hand has come up to hold onto his arm as though needing further assurance that Obi-Wan cannot pull away. “I can look later.”

Obi-Wan has half a mind to argue, but Anakin is holding on as though his _life_ depends on it and Obi-Wan can’t bring himself to pry the boy away just yet when he’s obviously so terrified. “Alright, later then.” Anakin flashes him a relieved smile and Obi-Wan leads them through the hangar towards the single pilot ship the Council has assigned him for this trip. 

It’s older with a sturdy frame and Obi-Wan almost laughs at how Anakin frowns, shooting longing looks at the sleek cruisers further down the hangar. “Why didn’t they give you a newer ship?” Anakin huffs as the boarding ramp lowers, peering inside curiously. His nose scrunches as he obviously doesn’t like what he sees. Obi-Wan finally extricates himself from Anakin to step forward, letting his bag drop down on the boarding ramp as he steps up to tap against the durasteel frame of the left wing, looking for any weak patches that could be trouble come the icy snowstorms on Ilum.

“Ilum is a planet almost completely covered in snow. It’s incredibly inhospitable and very, _very_ difficult to fly through. You need a nice sturdy ship to withstand the weather there otherwise you risk your ship breaking down on you and being stranded there until the _next_ Force-sensitive user shows up looking for a kyber crystal,” Obi-Wan hums, looking his transport over critically. While he had given up his childhood dream of becoming a pilot, he’s not bad at flying, and his childhood fascination with mechanics and ships gives him a good eye for machinery. He’ll never be an expert spaceship mechanic, but he can patch a ship up well enough if given the right parts and tools so that he can get it to someone better qualified, if the situation ever arises. He moves over to the right side to give it the same treatment. 

He’s engrossed in what he’s doing so he doesn’t notice the mounting tension behind him, how Anakin goes silent and his anxiety rises higher and higher. “Anakin, _calm yourself_ ,” Qui-Gon’s voice rings out, moments before Obi-Wan feels a wave of _panic_ tremble through the Force. 

“ _Please don’t go_ ,” Anakin whines, and Obi-Wan turns as the boy throws himself forward, his hands tangling into Obi-Wan’s robes, face pressing against his chest. “ ** _Please don’t leave me_**. **_Please, Obi-Wan!_** ”   
  
“Anakin,” he sighs, feeling drained. He had hoped to avoid a scene like this, had wanted Qui-Gon to keep Anakin at their rooms for this very reason. He’d wanted them to end things on the good note they had last night. He pries the boy’s fingers from his robes, pushing the boy back gently. Anakin resists, but not much. “Anakin, you gave me your **word** last night. Show me that _means_ something.” He searches the boy’s eyes, waits for him to meet his gaze and nod in agreement before he releases him and steps away. He moves back to the front of the ship where Qui-Gon waits, hands tucked in his sleeves, looking serene in the Force. Obi-Wan shoots him a tentative smile, and Qui-Gon nods in acknowledgement as Anakin shuffles behind him to come stand beside the Master Jedi. 

With a sigh, Obi-Wan makes his way back up the boarding ramp and grabs his bag where he dropped it. He slings it over his shoulder and turns to look back. Qui-Gon and Anakin both look at him, one calm and watchful, the other pained and yearning. Obi-Wan flashes them a smile and waves.

“May the Force be with you, my former apprentice,” Qui-Gon says, pride in his tone as he bows. 

Obi-Wan smiles, returning the bow. “And also with you, Master.” He looks to Anakin, heart clenching at the anguished look on the young boy’s face and he wishes he could hug the boy and make it all better. But he can’t. He _won’t_. This is good; this is **right**. The boy will be better with Qui-Gon, Obi-Wan _knows_ it. Anakin will see it, too, with time. “Until next time, Anakin. Study hard, study well, and may the Force be with you.”

Anakin’s lips press into a hard line, and Obi-Wan’s heart hurts, thinking the boy is going to treat him to silence. He smiles once more at him anyways before turning to walk up the ramp.

“I’m gonna study _so hard_ your jaw’s gonna **hit the floor** when you get back! So you **_better_** come back safe!” Obi-Wan turns, and Anakin’s fists are clenched at his sides, his eyes narrowed into a glare. “I’m gonna keep my word so you _better_ keep **yours** , too!”

Obi-Wan’s face hurts from how wide he’s smiling, _fondness_ blossoming in his chest like the sun rising over the horizon ending the dark, chilling night. “ ** _I will_** ,” he promises. Anakin nods, his face relaxing but his hands are still balled into fists at his side, body tense like he’s holding himself back from running forward onto the ship. Obi-Wan waves one last time before turning and walking up the boarding ramp, hitting the button to close the ramp behind him before the boy can give in to temptation and bolt aboard. Before he _lets_ him. 

* * *

Obi-Wan wasn’t exaggerating when he told Anakin that the first three days of the trip to Ilum are **boring**. From Coruscant you take the Namadii Corridor toward Dorin, continue all the way to Ansion and then turn and keep going until you hit the Utegetu Nebula. It’s a well established travel route that Obi-Wan doesn’t really have to pay attention to navigating. From there things get a bit more tricky, navigating through unrouted space to get to Ilum, but there are well-traveled routes the Jedi tend to stick to and Obi-Wan inputs the coordinates for the route into the hyperdrive and prepares to pilot in case anything happens. But really, then it’s just a waiting game for three to four days. 

A man of his word, Obi-Wan spends most of the time meditating. 

The situation is… _complicated_. 

He loves both Qui-Gon and Anakin, he is unashamed to admit it. He respects Qui-Gon as a master and wants the best for Anakin. He truly _does_ believe that Qui-Gon would be a great teacher for the boy. And yet a part of him also wants Anakin to be **happy** , wants the boy to be not just a good Jedi but a _content_ man. He has lived enough lives to know that a _fulfilling_ life is often better than a _prestigious_ life. Should he value Anakin’s talents more than his wishes when the boy has made it so painfully clear that he wants Obi-Wan to be his teacher, not Qui-Gon? And can he trust that this is what the boy really wants and that the boy has not simply imprinted on him due to the trauma of being forced to part with his mother and Obi-Wan’s availability thereafter? Then there’s Anakin’s claims that it is the will of the Force that he teaches Anakin, which is troubling as well. Is it _truly_ a Force premonition or just the dreams of a young boy? Anakin is incredibly sensitive to the Force, but is he unconsciously manipulating the Force to suit his desires? It has happened before, and as the Force Child Anakin’s power in the Force gives him an incredible amount of control over it. Then there’s the matter of the Duinuogwuin slumbering within him, the one that may someday kill Obi-Wan. There are too many unknowns there, too much lost in time to legend. When he returns to the Temple, he will have to enlist Qui-Gon for some deep-dive research into the subject. That and his possible resurrection abilities. 

Obi-Wan’s head hurts that first day. 

The second day, Obi-Wan tries to focus himself more. The circumstances of Anakin and his true natures are something he will have to research more once he has returned to Coruscant. He casts those thoughts aside. 

He cannot truly know if Anakin’s desire to have him as a teacher is genuine or born of the fear from separating from his mother. He will simply have to _trust_ the boy. He casts that aside, too. 

As for the question of happiness versus prestige, he cannot be sure that Qui-Gon will not bring the boy joy. After all, his Master brought love and joy to Obi-Wan’s own life so he very well may bring the same to Anakin’s. He casts this aside as well. 

Which leaves him with the question: is it the will of the Force that _Qui-Gon_ trains Anakin or that **he** do so instead?

By the end of the second day, his head is _throbbing_.

The third day he doesn’t meditate, so tired of opening himself to the Force for guidance and receiving nothing but silence. Meditation is normally something that brings him inner peace, something he gets lost in so much that time passes far too quickly. Yet Qui-Gon had been correct in that Obi-Wan still has much to learn about the Living Force; he cannot hear whatever it is Anakin claims is declaring them meant to be. 

The fourth day, he feels guilty for having not meditated the day before. He is a man of his word, if nothing else, so he meditates until the hyperdrive flares up and announces turbulence that demands his attention, shaking out the sleep from his limbs and piloting the ship the rest of the way to the frozen surface of Ilum. After that, there’s no time to meditate anymore. 

He has come in the off season. Granted, it is near constantly the off-season on Ilum, the brief window of each standard cycle when the Order hosts the Gathering the most hospitable the planet ever truly is. Even then, the frozen tundras are dangerous at best, _lethal_ at worst. 

Obi-Wan lands his ship at the most stable looking spot he can next to a cluster of evermore trees stubbornly sprouting through the mountains of snow. He knows that these trees are hundreds of feet tall, but currently they look but twenty. He puts snow shoes on, extreme cold weather gear making sweat break out in the false heat of the rapidly cooling spaceship. He wipes it off with a spare sock in his pack: sweat can be deadly here, freezing in an instant and causing frostbite if you’re not careful. 

Obi-Wan opens the hatch between gusts of sleet and snow, and begins the long trek to the Jedi Temple.

It takes him almost eight hours. He begins to panic as the sky starts to darken overhead. He does not want to be caught outside at night; the already freezing temperatures drop to levels even his weather gear cannot manage and he only has so much spare anthracite to burn. Plus he doesn’t want to risk running into any gorgodons, _especially_ without a lightsaber. That would almost certainly mean death. He knows if things look truly dire, he needs only ignite, the fires of his true form burning hot enough that not even the snowstorms of Ilum at their **worst** could freeze him out, but he doesn’t want to go that far. It would be hard to explain how he showed up naked and without any supplies in the middle of the off-season if there is anyone else at the Temple right now. Plus, he still has to go through the trials in the caves, and he would rather do so _clothed_ , thank you very much. 

The cliff face that hides the Temple comes into view, and with a new burst of energy Obi-Wan pushes forward the last quarter mile. At the base of the cliff face, Obi-Wan traces his way along, senses opened to the Force. His gloved fingers skim over the ice until he feels the _thrum_ of the Temple entrance, and he sighs in relief. It’s covered in thick layers of ice and snow just as he remembers it being during his first Gathering. He almost wants to laugh, remembering how all his agemates and he had hacked away at the ice and snow for hours in their first trial, clearing the doorway. Now, years later, he spends about twenty minutes with his ice pick and hammer chiseling into the ice, creating an arching dome around the door of holes deep within the ice. Guide points created, Obi-Wan closes his fists and feels the ice _crack_ under the weight of the Force, fine lines spreading out, catching on each of the meticulous holes he’s created so that the shatter is controlled into a shape of his choosing. Rather than taking the whole wall down and risking an avalanche, he yanks his arm back and in an **explosion** of small shards and powder the dome falls away, leaving a hole around the Temple doorway. 

Obi-Wan grins and steps inside. 

He closes the door behind him to keep the snow out, letting his hood down and pulling his goggles and mask down from where it was protecting the skin of his face. The halls of the Temple are as impressive as they always have been, in this life and all his past lives. Obi-Wan cannot remember a time before this Temple was built – even _he_ is not that old. 

The entrance opens into the main chamber, a towering rotunda carved into the mountain itself. All along the walls of the chamber run doors leading to passages and smaller rooms leading up several levels. Directly ahead stands the two hooded statues of Jedi standing sentinel, their lightsabers raised and held at the ready across their chests, the two tips angling toward one another toward the center of the room. Between the two sits the giant kyber crystal, glowing faintly even now in the darkening skies of dusk. He can feel the Force pulsating around it, warm like a heartbeat. Behind it, a cascading wall of ice: the frozen waterfall. He remembers Master Vant leading Obi-Wan and his fellow younglings through the antechamber during his Gathering, explaining the significance of this Temple, the history of this place, the importance of kyber crystals. He remembers the Jedi Master telling them with a smirk that they were here to undergo a trial of character and see if they were worthy enough for a kyber crystal to choose them. They would not be able to undergo the test again for another seventeen days, the alignment of this planet’s star only allowing for the light to shine just so for a brief period to allow the giant kyber crystal to reflect the light and melt the frozen waterfall, allowing passage into the cave entrance hidden behind it. He remembers watching with wonder as the star shifted in the sky, the light bouncing off the facets of the crystal until finally the great wall of ice shimmered and then seemed to _shatter_ before their eyes. _“What are you waiting for?”_ Master Vant had laughed, _“You haven’t got much time.”_

Obi-Wan knew even then that it was a lie meant to create a sense of urgency to the Gathering. He had learned the truth in a previous life: you could get through the wall at any time using the Force. But seeing the _wonder_ in the other younglings eyes as the ice shattered and the path was revealed always made him bite his tongue. Let them keep their secrets. 

He reaches out a hand, and pushes forward. The ice shatters into large shards that spread throughout the chamber, falling to reveal the cave entrance hidden behind it. Obi-Wan takes a moment to simply _breathe_ , to take in the beauty of the Temple. Then, he starts to peel off layers of clothing. Off comes the outer layers of his extreme weather gear, tucked away into his travel bag. Then comes the outer layer of thermal clothing, leaving him only in the inner lining of clothing. Flame-resistant, of course. It won’t withstand his flames if he fully ignites, but when he takes a deep breath and lets the fires that rest in his core lick up to the surface, lets their heat suffuse through his body, chasing away the last of the chill of this kriffing planet, they don’t start to melt. Good enough for now. Obi-Wan smoothes his sleeves down, takes a deep breath, and steps through the cave entrance. 

The last time he’d taken the steps down the catacombs of the caves, he’d been pushed and rushed by his fellow younglings, over eager and terrified of the trial they would have to face in the darkness here. Now, he takes his time, mindful of the encroaching darkness, the slippery rock beneath his feet. He trails his fingers along the wall on his left as he takes slow, measured steps deeper and deeper into the earth, breathing slow and calm. Already he can feel the vergeance bearing down on him, delving into his mind and sifting through his thoughts to find his deepest, darkest fears and insecurities. 

“Pasha,” a woman’s voice sounds to his right, and Obi-Wan pauses, closing his eyes. So it begins. “Pasha, please,” the woman calls again. “Why didn’t you _save_ me, Pasha?” 

“I _couldn’t_ , mother,” he whispers, continuing his descent down the stairs. “I couldn’t have saved you even if I _wanted_ to.”

“But that’s not true, is it?” a new voice asks, deep and melodic. Obi-Wan’s breath hitches. “You could have saved us, like you saved **them**. But you _didn’t_. Did you not love us, Ta’lhan?”

“No Rak’nar,” he gasps, his chest tight, feeling blood drip from his fingers, his braids heavy against his back, his sword clenched in his hand. “I _loved_ you. You and our children. More than _anything in the world._ If I could have saved you, I _would_ have.”

“Then why did you save _me_?” Quinlan hums, pushing off from where he leans against the wall of the cavern twenty steps below Obi-Wan. “If you loved all of _them_ so much but you didn’t save them, why’d you save _me_?”

Obi-Wan whines, “I don’t _know_.” He steps forward quicker, pushing past Quinlan. “I don’t _know_ how I saved you, but if I did I would have saved them **_all_**. I _would_ have. I loved you all – I  **_still_ ** love you all.”

A laugh, and it twists Obi-Wan’s insides. He grabs the wall and stops moving down the steps. “Oh did you now? You love us all? Even **me** , brother?”

Tears squeeze past his shut eyes. “ _ **Yes**_ ,” he hisses, fingers digging into the rocky wall. “Yes, I love even _you_ , Ventis.” 

“Look at me,” he whispers, and Obi-Wan shakes, eyes opening. An inferno burns before him, the barely discernible shape of a face twisted in agony amidst the flames. “If you loved me, then how could you do  **_this_ ** to me?!”

Obi-Wan screams, flames erupting from his body as he sinks down to the ground. “You  **killed** them,” he sobs, “You killed them  _ all _ , brother. An entire  _ planet _ destroyed and you expected me to do  _ nothing _ ?”

“I expected you to  **join** me,” the beast snarls. “They  _ slaughtered _ our sister. They  _ deserved _ to die.” 

“ _ One _ deserved to die, Ventis,” Obi-Wan cries, fingers digging into his forearms, drawing blood. “ **One** person on that  _ whole _ planet deserved to die, but you slaughtered them all like  _ animals _ and expected me to stand by and do  _ nothing _ while you reduced the planet to ash and cinder.” He lifts his hands, pressing his heels into his eyes until dark spots dance in his vision, until his brother’s face twisted and cruel no longer burns in the forefront of his mind. He wills other memories forward: Ventis, Lar’ia, and he laughing as they soared through the cosmos, alight and burning like stars in the inky black of the sky. Their sister’s smile as she danced under the starlight and the light of a hundred moons. Ventis’ song, so bright and joyful as they blazed ephemeral through the night sky. 

The fires blazing across his skin grow smaller until finally they die down, the light of his siblings’ light chasing away the last of his anguish. He lets his hands fall, opens his eyes. “I **love** you, brother,” he whispers to the creature that burns before him. “I loved you enough to _kill_ you before you could realize what you’d become.”

He stands, legs shaky but they hold true, and the figure does not stop him as he continues his descent into the catacombs.

A child laughs behind him. Arms wind their way around his neck in an embrace. “What about  _ me _ ?” Anakin asks, and Obi-Wan grabs the wall against the panic. There’s a rumbling in Anakin’s voice that grows deeper and deeper, that primal feeling in Obi-Wan’s chest growing stronger as the boy’s hold around his throat squeezes tighter until Obi-Wan can no longer breathe. “Will you kill  _ me _ too? Or will  _ I _ kill  **you** first?”

Fear shoots through him, and he ignites once more. The hold around his neck disappears, and Anakin’s laugh echoes through the cave. Obi-Wan gasps for air and wills the flames down, trying desperately to release his fear into the Force. “I will  **not** kill you, Anakin. I  _ love _ you, dear one.”

“ _ Well then _ ,” growls the black Duinuogwuin as it rises from the dark abyss, its golden eyes peering at Obi-Wan with hunger. “I suppose that means that  _ I’ll _ just have to kill  _ you _ then.” The dragon lunges forward, it’s giant mouth opening wide to swallow Obi-Wan whole. Wreathed in flames, fear courses through him demanding he  _ run, **run, RUN!** _

Obi-Wan stands his ground. 

“I guess it does,” he whispers, and lets the beast’s mouth close around him. The world fades to black. 

And then, in the darkness a light begins to shine. A fire  _ burning _ bright and eternal. Obi-Wan reaches a hand out and grabs it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave me comments and feed my soul. 
> 
> Also!! I made a Tumblr to keep in contact with y'all in case you guys don't wanna keep using the reply function on here. I personally don't mind if you do and will chat on endlessly in the comments, but I know some people don't like that so feel free to hmu on [Tumblr](https://idunnowatimdoin.tumblr.com/). Just tell me who you are like username wise and that you came from here otherwise I probs won't reply bc I ignore DMs from people I don't know


	5. The Knighting Ceremony

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Siri, evil genius that she is, manages to pull Obi-Wan in for a drinking game that turns into them all trying to one up each other for the **craziest padawan mission.** It’s unclear who wins because honestly, the missions they get sent on are all kinds of **fucked,** and they all three end up drinking just because **_their lives._**
> 
> When Siri passes out next, head hitting the table, Quinlan actually lets out a **victory** cheer. Obi-Wan swats his face trying to shush him. They drag her up onto the couch with Geran. She big spoons the man and he smiles happily, and Quinlan wishes he could take holovids so they could never, _ever_ forget this. 
> 
> Obi-Wan grabs his hand and drags him to his room as he snickers, though, so he lets it slide. 
> 
> _Force,_ he loves Knighting ceremonies. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter is... it makes my heart happy. Not a lot happens it in really. It's just... It's just a beautiful exploration of Obi-Wan's other relationships _besides_ Anakin and Qui-Gon. And I _**live**_ for his brOTP with Quinlan Vos. That's my fucking SHIT. So I hope you guys enjoy this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it. There's not much action in this one but I still love it.

The trip back to Coruscant is grueling in that he is exhausted physically, emotionally,  _ and _ psychologically. The trials in the caves have always been more  **difficult** for him than his agemates, the veritable fount of lifetimes worth of memories the vergeance can pull from far more  _ bountiful _ than the decade (more or less) of fears and insecurities the other children have to offer. He means to keep his promise to Anakin, he  _ truly _ does, but the first day of the journey back is spent in a dead sleep, and the second in a meditative trance that focuses more on putting back together the fragmented pieces of his mind than trying to piece together the will of the Force. 

On the third day, he  _ does _ try to meditate on the matter of Anakin, but he fears his mind is still too fragile from the caves to truly focus the way he wants to. By the fourth day, he feels guilt roiling in his stomach, feeling as though he’s failed to keep up his side of the bargain even though he’s  _ been trying _ , truly. He spends the rest of that day in deep meditation and even programs the autopilot to drop him into sub-light before he reaches Coruscant just to prolong the trip so he has more time. 

He  _ still _ feels  **nothing** in the Force. 

Frustrated and feeling like he’s  _ failed _ Anakin in some way, Obi-Wan lands the ship in the Temple late at night. It’s far later than he’d been scheduled to return back, but delays happen often on missions and he’d warned the Council ahead of time that he was running behind schedule (though he neglected to tell them that part of the reason he would be late was that he was  _ stalling _ ). He powers the ship off, feeling exhaustion sink in alongside the resignation and the guilt, and he pushes himself out of his seat. Hopefully he can get at least  _ one _ good night’s sleep in before he has to face Anakin’s dismay. 

The Temple is quiet this late at night, only the nocturnal species of Jedi milling about. Obi-Wan waves a weary hand at a few he recognizes, but he’s too dead on his feet to stop to chat and they must sense it for they make no move to engage him. He makes it all the way to Qui-Gon’s rooms before he realizes he’s been moving by muscle memory alone. For a moment, he entertains the thought of looking in, of checking in on Anakin before tucking in for the night, but the chance of waking the boy in the process makes him turn on his heels and leave. 

The walk to his room from Qui-Gon’s is far more familiar, a path he’s walked for months now. He can’t help but smile softly, remembering the last time he’d walked this with Anakin dragging him enthusiastically, excited at the thought of a sleepover at Obi-Wan’s rooms. 

_ Sithspit _ , he misses the boy and it’s only been a little over a week. He’s really got to work on this  **attachment** ; it’s one thing for him to acknowledge he loves the boy, it’s  _ another _ for him to  **pine** so much. It’s unbecoming. 

He’ll work on it in the morning. 

His door hisses open, and Obi-Wan grunts as he pulls off his heavy boots. He’ll have to give them a good cleaning tomorrow, but that can wait, too. What  _ can’t _ wait is a quick rinse in the fresher. He feels like he’s covered in sweat and grime despite the fact that his ship had a sonic fresher and he knows  _ intellectually _ that he’s clean. He wants a  **water** shower, and he wants it  _ now _ . 

He luxuriates under the hot water for longer than necessary, letting the heat seep back into him after so long on that kriffing cold planet. He knows it’s almost physically  _ impossible _ for him to freeze, but that doesn’t mean he likes the cold all the same. 

Once he’s done, he wraps himself in sleep robes and with a yawn pads into his room. 

And freezes. 

There’s a lump in his bed. 

A moving,  _ breathing _ lump.

A moving, breathing lump with a  _ very _ familiar Force signature. 

“ _ Anakin _ ,” Obi-Wan hisses, stepping fully into the room. The door closes behind him, and he feels Anakin’s disorientation in the Force as the boy shifts and rolls over, blinking sleep from his eyes before he notices Obi-Wan. 

He wakes up quickly, pushing up and throwing himself forward. “Obi-Wan, you’re back!”

Obi-Wan tries to fight the curl of warmth in his chest at the boy’s obvious joy over his return, frowning as he pushes him away. The boy whines, hurt flaring through the Force so strongly that Obi-Wan fears he may have physically injured him for a moment before he remembers that Anakin just projects that strongly all the time. He sets his jaw. “Anakin, what are you  _ doing _ in my bed?”

Anakin frowns, shifting and looking less than happy at the stern tone in Obi-Wan’s voice, at how the Knight holds him an arm length away. “You were  _ late _ ,” he accuses, looking up at Obi-Wan through his lashes. “You were supposed to get home this afternoon. I waited  _ all night _ for you.”

Obi-Wan’s frown deepens. “You didn’t wait  _ here _ , did you? Have you been sleeping here this whole time?”

“ **No** ,” Anakin huffs, but he doesn’t sound happy about that either. “Qui-Gon won’t let me sleep here anymore. He says it’s ‘not proper’ for a padawan to be staying over at a Knight’s room all the time. I had to wait until he fell asleep tonight to sneak over.”

Obi-Wan sighs, letting go of Anakin to run a hand through his hair. He takes a step back from the bed when Anakin eyes him critically, as though deciding if he should throw himself forward again or not. “Anakin, Master Jin is right. It’s not proper for a padawan to be spending the night in a Knight’s room like this and you  _ should _ be sleeping in your own room. You  _ especially _ should not be sneaking out on your teacher after he goes to bed. I thought you promised you would be good for Master Jinn?”

Anakin bites his lip at that, looking like he’s going to cry. “I have been, though. I’ve been such a good student, even  _ Miss Jocasta _ said so. I only made it through the third form kata, but I  **did** read the whole Mandalorian Wars holobook! I know it’s not everything I  _ said _ I was gonna do, but I  **swear** I tried my hardest.” He  _ is _ crying by the end of it, big fat tears rolling down his cheeks. He scrubs them away angrily. 

“Oh,  _ dear one _ ,” Obi-Wan says, feeling the anger leave him immediately. It should alarm him how completely Anakin has him in his thrall, but he can’t bring himself to care as he steps forward and lets the boy crawl forward, wrapping his arms around Obi-Wan’s stomach and pressing his face to his sternum. “I  **know** you’ve been doing your best. I’m very proud of the progress you’ve made, Anakin. You are  _ such _ a good student, such a smart and strong boy.”

Anakin sniffles against his chest, and Obi-Wan can feel the tears and snot seep into the fabric. He supposes he’ll have to take another shower in the morning, now. At least he was already planning on doing laundry. “You’re not mad even though I didn’t get through everything I said I was gonna?”

Obi-Wan runs a hand through his hair. “No, I’m not mad about that. I knew you wouldn’t get through all of it in the time I was gone; that was just unrealistic Anakin. What you **did** manage to do was already _far_ more than I expected.” He hums, cradling the boy’s head as he sniffles again. “What I _am_ upset about is that you snuck out of your room tonight to come sleep in my room, even after Master Jinn told you not to. It doesn’t matter how strong a student you are or how strong a Jedi you become, Anakin, if you are not a _trustworthy_ _person_. Master Jinn has put a _lot_ of faith in you by agreeing to teach you; it is disrespectful and hurtful to take the trust he has given you and abuse it. Do you understand?”

When Obi-Wan pulls back to look at Anakin this time, the boy looks properly chastised. Better yet, the Knight can sense his  **guilt** hanging in the Force. Hopefully Anakin takes this lesson to heart. 

“I understand,” he says solemnly at last, nodding his head. “I’m sorry. I just missed you  _ so much _ .”

Obi-Wan sighs, feeling fatigue pulling at his limbs once more. “And I you, dear one. That does not excuse what you did, but I understand why you did it.”

“Are you going to make me go back to my room?” Anakin’s voice is small, resigned. 

Obi-Wan is exhausted. “Not tonight, Anakin. Just for tonight, you can stay. But if I hear you’re sneaking out again, I’m changing the passcode to my door so you can’t get in anymore, do you understand?”

Anakin’s joy bursts golden through the Force, a supernova that lights up the room. “I understand,” he cheers, bouncing on the bed in his excitement. Obi-Wan can’t help but chuckle, groaning in relief as he slips under the covers and slides into his bed. Immediately Anakin jumps on top of him, knocking the breath out of him. He wheezes as the boy wraps his arms around his chest and tangles their legs together, resting his head above Obi-Wan’s heart. “Good night, Obi-Wan!” he hums, sounding far too  _ awake _ to be going to sleep, but Obi-Wan is too tired to fight him on it. 

“Good night, Anakin,” he hums as he types out a message on his comm for Qui-Gon, letting the Jedi Master know where his padawan is so he doesn’t wake to an empty bed in the morning and panic. 

Anakin rubs his cheek against Obi-Wan’s chest as though he’s trying to burrow closer, and Obi-Wan huffs out a laugh before blissfully passing out. 

* * *

Qui-Gon is  **not** pleased the next morning when Obi-Wan and Anakin finally make their way to their rooms for breakfast. The Jedi Master wears his scowl plainly across his face as Obi-Wan prepares their meal, and Anakin is quiet under the older man’s disapproval. Obi-Wan does not say anything to defend the boy, either; he had been clear with Anakin that what he had done was wrong, and while he had allowed him to stay the night in his rooms – a mixture of exhaustion, the boy’s obvious distress, and his own desire for the boy’s presence overriding his sense of duty – he will  **not** protect the boy from the consequences of his actions. Anakin may be a child, but he is old enough and bright enough to  _ know  _ **_better_ ** _. _

When the food is finished, Anakin helps him set the table, still quiet and with downcast eyes. Obi-Wan  _ aches _ for him; the boy is so bright and vibrant, to see him so downtrodden is tragic. But he stills his tongue for it is not his place to speak. 

After they are all sitting, Qui-Gon takes a deep breath and Anakin goes tense. “Anakin, do you know what you did was wrong?” he asks, voice calm but stern. 

Anakin looks to his hands, folded in his lap and twisting the fabric of his padawan robes there nervously. “Yes, Mister Qui-Gon, sir. I understand that it was wrong of me to sneak out of my rooms even though you told me not to. It was dishonest and I’m sorry. I know it doesn’t excuse what I did, but I missed Obi-Wan  _ so muc _ h. I really, truly didn't mean to disrespect you, sir.”

It sounds uncannily like what Obi-Wan said last night, but Anakin says it and he sounds genuine so Obi-Wan doesn’t comment, sipping at his cup of tea instead. This is a matter between master and padawan and he will not interfere. 

Qui-Gon lets Anakin sit in quiet discomfort for a few moments before he lets out a breath and some of the tension bleeds out of the room. Obi-Wan hides his amusement behind the rim of his glass, far too familiar with his former master’s idiosyncrasies not to recognize that sigh of resignation. “Very well, Padawan. I accept your apology. But please in the future do try not to do this again. An old man’s heart can only take so many surprises,” he jokes, lips curling upward into a smile at the end and Anakin looks up and grins back at him. Obi-Wan smiles as he drinks his tea, peace restored at last. 

They tuck into their breakfasts, and Anakin starts telling Obi-Wan all about what he’s missed while he was gone. He goes into exceptional detail about how  _ studious _ he was in the Knight’s absence, and Obi-Wan doesn’t miss the  **significant** look the boy gives him at that, but Anakin wisely doesn’t say anything more about their bargain in front of Qui-Gon. It doesn’t stop a tendril of  _ guilt _ from coiling around Obi-Wan’s stomach, making him push his food around his plate rather than eat it, his appetite flagging. 

“And Mister Qui-Gon says that I’m way better at Makashi than I am at Soresu, but he thinks I’m probably gonna be even better at Ataru or Djem So!” Anakin hums, shoving a bite of egg into his mouth and chewing. “And now that you’re back, you can help me with Soresu, since you’re better at it than Mister Qui-Gon. And you can teach me about the Star Forge, since I didn’t get to that holobook while you were gone, and about Darth Revin and Darth Malick. And you can tell me all about Ilum! I can’t  _ wait _ until  **_I_ ** get to go. When do you think I can, Obi-Wan?”

Obi-Wan’s stomach drops, and if his appetite hadn’t disappeared before it would have then. Beside him, Qui-Gon is serene in the Force and nothing seems to have changed in his expression, but Obi-Wan can see the shift in his posture, how he sits up straighter, his shoulders tense, his hands clasped together on the table. Obi-Wan’s hands clench in his lap to see his former master hurt so. “ **_Enough_ ** , Anakin,” he says, and his voice is sharp, harsh. Cold. Anakin visibly recoils, his smile faltering. Obi-Wan feels nothing but cold anger as the hard line of his master’s shoulders remain. “Do not forget that  **Master Jinn** is your teacher, not  **_I_ ** . If you wish to learn about the Star Forge or anything else, it is  **_him_ ** you should be asking. And while I am  _ flattered _ to hear you think so highly of my skills, I am  _ appalled _ to hear you speak so cruelly of your teacher as to say his combat abilities are subpar to those of a Knight as  _ inexperienced _ as I. Did you not just tell Master Jinn that you meant him no disrespect this morning? And yet no less than an  _ hour _ later you speak so lowly of him in front of other people. I am  _ appalled _ by your behavior, Padawan Skywalker, and if you were my padawan learner, I would be  **deeply** hurt and offended by your words.”

Hot tears roll down the boy’s cheeks by the end of Obi-Wan’s scolding, and they only incite his rage all the more. It’s an effort to keep the anger from spilling over, from projecting into the Force, to keep his  **flames** from shining in his hair, in his eyes. He  _ burns _ with righteous fury on behalf of his former master, because as much as he loves Anakin, he loves Qui-Gon  _ more _ . His Master deserves more respect than this, and it  _ burns _ Obi-Wan to see him treated so. 

“B–but I  _ should _ be!” Anakin sobs, scrubbing at his eyes angrily. The tears are still coming quickly, but now there’s anger twisting his face, warping his Force signature, and Obi-Wan can feel the darkness twisting, can sense the Duinuogwuin stirring. He stands his ground, but dread spreads through him.  _ No _ , he thinks,  _ no, Anakin, please  _ **_don’t_ ** _ say it. _ “I should be  _ your _ padawan, Obi-Wan,  **not** Qui-Gon’s!”

It’s like the air gets sucked out of the room. Obi-Wan stands so quickly his chair flies back and hits the wall. “Damn it, Anakin, enough with this  **nonsense** !” he snarls, his flames building in his chest and he feels like he could  **explode** with his rage. 

“It’s not nonsense! It’s the  **truth** ; I can feel it in the Force!  _ You’re _ supposed to be my teacher, Obi-Wan. I  **know** it,” Anakin growls, the dragon seething in his eyes, cold fury threatening to rain fire and destruction down on them all. “You  _ promised _ ! You  **promised** you would meditate on it. That you’d see for yourself that we’re  **supposed** to be together!”

Obi-Wan slams his fists against the table. “ **_I did!_ ** ” That shuts Anakin up, makes him freeze. “I meditated about it for  _ days _ , Anakin, and do you know what I felt? I felt  _ nothing _ ! The Force didn’t tell me anything at all. I don’t know if I’m just not strong enough or not in touch with the Living Force enough to feel it, or if it’s all just a kriffing  **lie** you made up because you don’t want me to leave. But either way I meditated on it for days and got nothing but silence, which tells me that even if you’re right and I  _ should _ be your teacher, I don’t  **deserve** to be!”

His chest is heaving, and he can see his auburn hair shining, lit by the light of his inner flames so it almost seems as if fire dances around him. He wonders if Anakin can see the phoenix in his eyes the way he can see the Duinuogwuin in his.  **He doesn’t care.**

The scrape of chair legs against the floor makes his head snap, gaze breaking from the death glare he’s got going with Anakin, and the blood rushes out of his face as Qui-Gon rises from his chair. “ _ Master _ ,” he breathes, pain and shame radiating off him. “Master, I –”

“Apologies, but I think I would like to go meditate,” Qui-Gon hums, pushing his chair in behind him. “If you would please excuse me.”

He breezes past, the picture of serenity in a sea of raging emotions. Obi-Wan fights back a sob, hand reaching out to touch but he stops himself, arm falling back at his side before he can connect. “Master, I’m _so_ _sorry_ ,” he whispers as Qui-Gon slips from the room. 

Obi-Wan’s heart  **breaks** . 

“Obi-Wan, I –” Anakin starts, reaching out to him, and it’s so like how he’d reached out to Qui-Gon that Obi-Wan flinches away. Anakin stops, his hand dropping back to his side. 

“ _ Don’t _ , Anakin,” Obi-Wan sighs, feeling hollow. “Just,  **don’t** . I need… I need you to leave me alone for a little while.”

Anakin lets out an anguished whine. “How long is awhile?”

Obi-Wan runs a hand through his hair. “I don’t  _ know _ , Anakin. I don’t know.”

Anakin cries again as Obi-Wan leaves. He doesn’t look back.

* * *

Obi-Wan changes the code to his rooms. Perhaps it’s cruel to do, to cut Anakin off so completely, but he cannot forget the feeling in his chest as Qui-Gon left, the feeling of betrayal and shame that burns bitter in his chest. He hears the boy try to come into his rooms on the second day of his exile. He doesn’t answer when Anakin knocks, his wretched “Obi-Wan,  _ please _ ” clawing at Obi-Wan’s heart. He loves Anakin, but he loves Qui-Gon  **more** . 

He works on his lightsaber in his self-imposed banishment. Never one for idleness, Obi-Wan takes to the task of crafting his lightsaber like a man grasping at a life preserver. He loses himself to the task of it, engrossed in the subtle art of crafting the hilt to suit his precise needs just so. The fact that he builds it in likeness of Qui-Gon’s own lightsaber in tribute to the man who trained him, a time honored show of  **respect** that Jedi have continued through the ages, is a balm to his aching soul. 

Four days pass before he’s satisfied with his work, smiling down at his creation. He runs tender fingers along the scalloped grip, tracing delicate touch over the multiple power cells. He feels calmer than he has since his return from Ilum. 

A banging on his door shatters his silent reverie. A familiar touch in the Force has him scowling.  _ What in the blazes does he want?  _ Obi-Wan huffs as Quinlan’s voice grouches, “Open the kriffing  _ door _ , Obi-Wan!”

He’s about to shout that the other man has the code, dammit, but reality slams back into him and he stands. His Knight’s apartment is cold and empty, little bits and pieces from his lightsaber construction strewn about here and there, so reminiscent of those first few months here when Anakin had practically lived here, his projects strewn about haphazardly. Obi-Wan feels his gut twist. No, Quinlan  _ doesn’t _ have the code, because this  _ isn’t _ Qui-Gon’s rooms, isn’t Obi-Wan’s  **_home_ ** . He smooths his robes down and moves to open the door. 

Quinlan leans against the doorway, inky black hair hanging long and shaggy around his rugged tanned face. He runs his eyes up and down Obi-Wan, and to anyone else it would seem sexual, but Obi-Wan can see the thinly veiled concern in his friend’s eyes, the overly forced laxity in his posture betraying how  _ tense _ he really is. “Well look who decided to finally join the land of the living,” Quinlan smirks, leaning forward. “And the Knighthood, too! Took you long enough, Slowbi-Wan.” 

Despite himself, Obi-Wan feels something inside himself relax, uncoiling after days and days on edge at the familiar banter. He snorts, punching Quinlan’s shoulder slightly harder than necessary and takes great delight in watching the man wince. “Oh dosh off, Vos. What are you doing here? I thought you were on some hotshot covert mission?”

Quinlan rubs at his shoulder, circling the offended arm around. Don’t let it be said that Obi-Wan pulls his punches. “Finished early, heard you were planetside. Figured I’d swing by, let the blue brat have some R&R, and get the great Obi-Wan Kenobi  _ raging  _ **_drunk_ ** to celebrate his newfound Knighthood.”

“Oh  _ really _ ?” Obi-Wan laughs, feeling his brow creep up. “And who says the great Obi-Wan Kenobi thinks getting shitfaced with  **you** is any way to celebrate?”

Quinlan grins, throwing an arm around Obi-Wan’s shoulder. “Oh, but Obi-Wan, it’s  _ tradition _ . Or don’t you remember  _ my _ Knighthood ceremony?”

Obi-Wan groans. “Don’t remind me. I still can’t stand the smell of Ondaran willek juice. I  _ loved  _ Ondaran willek juice!”

Quinlan throws his head back and laughs, the bastard. “Well come on, Kenobi. Go get that sweet ass of yours freshened up. Our night of drinks and  _ debauchery _ awaits.”

“You’re disgusting,” Obi-Wan hisses, resisting the urge to punch Quinlan right in the face when he gives Obi-Wan’s ass a swat when he turns and walks into his room. “I need a crikking shower. You just… don’t  _ touch _ anything.”

“No promises,” Quinlan snorts, already making himself at home and raiding Obi-Wan’s pantry. Obi-Wan rolls his eyes, but turns his back and goes to the fresher. It’s really not worth trying to fight Quinlan; he’s a force of nature all his own and Obi-Wan has learned to roll with the punches over the years. 

His shower is delightful, rejuvenating after the gloom of the past few days. It almost feels like he’s washing away the last of the darkness that has been hanging over his head since he left Qui-Gon’s rooms. He still feels his guilt sitting leaden in his stomach, but it’s less noticeable, an ache he can ignore with the living distraction that is Quinlan Vos.  _ Stars _ , but Obi-Wan has missed his friend. 

“Wear civvies, I wanna stop by Dex’s first!” Quinlan shouts from where he lounges on the couch, chewing on some jerky Obi-Wan brought back from his last mission to Kashyyyk. His eyes are glued to a holobook on the history of kyber crystals Obi-Wan had checked out from the Archives. He scrolls through it lazily, not even glancing up at where Obi-Wan stands wrapped in nothing but a towel. It’s a side to the man that few people see, the outside world thinking he’s some gruff, lewd loose canon of a Jedi who flirts with anything that moves and only stays loyal to the Order out of convenience. Not many get to see this side of Quinlan when he finally relaxes and lets the pretense drop, stops being so overt and obscene with his attention just to get a rise out of people, loud and brash but  **loyal** to a fault. Obi-Wan feels affection curl in his chest as he turns and walks into his room to change. 

Obi-Wan doesn’t own much – material possessions are not of importance to the Jedi – but he does have some civilian clothes for when a mission calls for them to blend in. He knows Quinlan owns far more as the man tends to run more covert missions than not, but Obi-Wan’s wardrobe consists of a set of well worn black synthwool trousers, a gray long sleeve tunic, and a tan leather jacket with deep pockets in the front and a set of inner pockets. At his belt he has a matching tan leather tool harness, customized so that he has a place to clip in his saber where it can rest tucked under the protective cover of his jacket without leaving too noticeable a bulge. He still wears his Jedi boots, the worn brown boots innocuous enough that with the outfit they won’t give him away. It’s nothing special and it’s meant to make sure he flies under the radar, just another face in the crowd. But Quinlan  _ wolf whistles  _ like he always does when Obi-Wan walks out in civvies and Obi-Wan blushes, laughing at his friend’s antics. “Come on, Vos. I want about three nerfburgers and two Jawa juices in me if I have to deal with your  _ ridiculousness _ for the rest of the night.” Obi-Wan makes his way over to his desk and grabs the fruits of his four days of intense labor, hooking it to his belt before making his way to the door. 

Quinlan hops to his feet, stretching his arms over his head as he follows Obi-Wan out the entrance. “Yeah, yeah, Obi-Wan,” he hums, throwing his arm over Obi-Wan’s shoulder as the door opens. “Long as we get a Neuvian sundae. Dex’s Trammisten chocolate ice cream is the  _ best _ in the galaxy, and you know it.” 

Obi-Wan laughs. “Fine, fine, but don’t you complain to me tomorrow when your stomach hurts. You  _ know _ what dairy does to you.” 

**Fury** bright and bitter explodes in the Force, and Obi-Wan stops in his tracks, Quinlan’s arm around his shoulder tightening and his free hand falling to his hip where Obi-Wan knows his lightsaber rests. Obi-Wan brings his hand quickly to still the move even as his eyes snap over to the source of the sudden darkness. 

Qui-Gon’s hands are pale where they clamp down on Anakin’s shoulders, holding him in place and Obi-Wan can feel the Jedi Master’s shields snap in place around them. Distantly, Obi-Wan hears a youngling start crying, no doubt having sensed the first wave of  **malevolence** surging off the boy before them. 

The Duinuogwuin  _ seethes _ in azure eyes, spitting cold fire from between razor sharp teeth. Anakin’s mouth is drawn back in a snarl, his eyes fixed in a glare of pure rage and contempt. His hands are balled into fists at his sides. 

“Knight Vos, I was unaware you were back from your mission,” Qui-Gon says, voice calm in the churning storm. Obi-Wan can’t take his eyes off the dragon,  _ panic _ coursing through his veins hot and desperate. “My padawan and I were just coming by to invite Knight Kenobi over to our rooms for breakfast tomorrow, if you would care to join us?”

Quinlan’s eyes flick from Anakin to Qui-Gon, his lax smile practiced. He steps forward and Obi-Wan notes how he angles himself between Obi-Wan and Anakin slightly, body relaxed in that deceptive way of his that means he’s anything  _ but _ . “Sounds  **fun** , Old Man Jinn, count me in. Though you might wanna make that a  _ late _ breakfast. I’m gonna be keeping Obi-Wan here up  _ real _ late tonight.”

Another flare of swathing  **ire** goes through the air, and Obi-Wan sucks in a breath. Quinlan’s hold on him tightens, and Obi-Wan knows he’ll have a bruise on his arm tomorrow. “ _ Oh? _ ” Qui-Gon intones as though nothing is wrong, quirking a brow. “How so?” 

Quinlan grins lewdly, and if Obi-Wan’s heart weren’t in his throat, fear burning white hot in his chest he would have smacked him upside the head for it. “I’m gonna get him  _ outta his mind drunk. _ ”

“Ah, Qui-Gon laughs, “the old  _ Knighting ceremony. _ ” He lifts a hand from Anakin’s shoulder to stroke his beard, looking wistful. “I remember my  _ own _ Knighting ceremony quite fondly. Very well, we shall plan for a  _ very _ late breakfast then.”

Quinlan waggles his eyebrows. “Might even need to make it  _ lunch _ .”

Qui-Gon laughs, his hand falling back to Anakin’s shoulder. “Yes, yes, alright. We shan’t keep you two any longer then. Have  _ fun _ and do be  **safe** . Try not to get into  _ too _ much trouble and don’t let the Council catch you.”

“ _ No promises _ ,” Quinlan hums, spinning on his heel and sauntering them away, practically  _ dragging _ Obi-Wan along. “See ya on the flip side, Jinny!” The dark aura of hostility and the overbearing feeling of Anakin’s glare follows them all the way down the hall until they finally turn out of sight. “Looks like you’ve got  _ quite _ the story to tell, Kenobi,” Quinlan huffs, finally relaxing his hold on Obi-Wan. “That kid looked like he wanted to  **kill** me.” 

_ Not you,  _ Obi-Wan thinks sadly,  _ he wanted to kill  _ **_me_ ** _.  _

Quinlan lets him keep his silence as they walk down the halls toward the Temple exit, sensing the shift in mood but wisely not commenting where others can hear. Whatever just went down, he can tell it’s something Obi-Wan wants to keep private and he feels a surge of  _ protectiveness _ flare through him at the despondent look in the other man’s eyes. 

Catching a familiar brunette in the jumpsuits of the Jedi Starfighter Corps, Quinlan changes course, cupping a hand to his mouth. “Oi, Garen you pathetic heap of bantha fodder!” The man in question grinds to a halt, and Quinlan feels Obi-Wan tense under his arm a second before the jab to his flank.  _ Crik _ , but Obi-Wan didn’t pull his punches. Garen Muln heaves a huge sigh, looking their way and only after seeing Obi-Wan does he turn to walk towards them. Quinlan grins wide.

“What do you want,  _ sleemo _ ?” Garen huffs, all that annoyance aimed right for Quinlan. He turns a bright grin to Obi-Wan. “Hey, Obi-Wan. Congrats on the promotion; sorry I haven’t swung by yet. I only  _ just _ got planetside a day or two ago.”

“It’s alright, Garen,” Obi-Wan hums, and his voice still sounds strained. Quinlan frowns, arm shifting around where it rests over Obi-Wan’s shoulder. “Thank you. It only took me  _ ages _ to get there, but I guess better late than never.” That familiar note of self-deprecation is in his voice even as he laughs, and Garen shares a knowing look with Quinlan. 

“Tonight’s Obi’s Knighting ceremony. Grab the gang and meet up at his room round eight, yeah? Bring  _ everyone _ who’s planetside.”

“Please, Garen, don’t bring  _ everyone _ ,” Obi-Wan chimes in, looking vaguely ill. “I’d really prefer to keep it small.”

Garen looks between the two of them consideringly before nodding. “Alright, I’ll see which of the old Vant clan kids are around and see who’s got a little R&R.” Obi-Wan looks relieved at this and Garen smiles, the  _ traitor _ . Whatever, the bastard has always liked Obi-Wan better. 

“Fiiiiine, ya buzzkills,” Quinlan sighs. “But we are all getting absolutely  **wasted** . No excuses.” Garen rolls his eyes and Obi-Wan laughs, and this time it sounds lighter, only mildly strained. Quinlan counts it as a win anyways. “Anyways, Muln, catch ya later. Me and Obi here have a  _ date _ and if I look at your scummy face any longer I’m gonna lose my appetite.” 

“E chu ta!” Garen yells after them as Quinlan hustles them off towards the exit at double time, laughing and nearly tripping as Obi-Wan’s fist connects with his flank in the exact same spot as before,  _ twice _ as hard as the last time.  _ Sithspit _ but the man  _ doesn’t pull his punches _ . 

* * *

Obi-Wan has about four new sets of bruises on his body, one from each of Dex’s arms, but he can’t bring himself to  _ care _ . He’s already scarfed down one nerfburger and a helping of fried protato wedges, and he’s slurping down his second glass of Jawa juice as Hermoine brings him another plate of food. Quinlan has been quiet, demolishing his own food, but Obi-Wan can feel his friend brooding from across the table and knows that this brief stalemate they’ve got is going to end soon. He tries to enjoy this while it lasts. 

Hermoine slides a plate heaped with food onto the table, telling him to enjoy while patting his cheek affectionately, and Obi-Wan feels warm and happy,  **safe** in this place that feels like home away from home. Dex’s Diner is  _ familiar _ , a bubble of familiarity in a world that has been changing far too quickly around him lately. He picks up a protato wedge and twirls it between his fingers. 

“You ready to  _ talk _ yet?” Quinlan asks, voice low, and when Obi-Wan looks up at him he’s got his chin propped on one hand, the straw of his Jawa juice in his mouth. He looks almost bored and disinterested, but one of his feet presses strong and comforting against Obi-Wan’s under the table: a source of connection and  **grounding** . 

Obi-Wan laughs, squeezing the wedge between two fingers until the insides start to leak out of the seams. “Do I  _ have _ to?”

“Nah,” Quinlan shrugs, picking up his glass and leaning back against his booth, sipping at his drink leisurely. His foot doesn’t move.  _ But you can _ , it says. 

Obi-Wan laughs, and it sounds hysterical. He scrubs a hand down his face, runs it through his hair. “I don’t even know where to  _ start _ . So much’s happened, Quin, and I don’t even know where to  **begin** .” 

“Then start from the beginning,” Quinlan hums, setting his drink down and stealing a protato wedge from Obi-Wan’s plate. “Start from Tatooine.” 

And Obi-Wan does. He starts from the beginning, feeling as Quinlan slips shields around their table, a subtle mind trick that’ll make anyone trying to listen in forget what they’re hearing the moment they hear it. He tells him about the planet and how it brought out the  **fires** in him, tells him about the  _ jealousy _ that burned in his chest as Qui-Gon talked on and on about some boy he’d found in Mos Espa. Tells him about the fight and Qui-Gon introducing him to Anakin for the first time. Tells him about seeing the Duinuogwuin for the first time and the fight he’d had with Qui-Gon because of it. He explains the history of their two species and watches the line of Quinlan’s mouth flatten out grimly, watches him lean forward in his chair, steepling his hands, a thoughtful look in his eyes. 

Then it’s Naboo and the invasion. The fight with the Sith. Watching Qui-Gon fall and cutting the bastard in  _ half _ . Feeling his Master  **die** in his arms just like Cerasi all those years ago. And then bringing him back to life just like he’d brought  _ Quinlan _ back to life on Ragoon VI. He doesn’t miss the spark in Quinlan’s eyes when he says this, but the man doesn’t interrupt. 

The flight back to Coruscant. The months of waiting, watching,  _ praying _ for Qui-Gon to wake up. Training Anakin, knowing what the boy was and how  **dangerous** he was to Obi-Wan but also driven by duty and honor to train him, his promise to his dying master not nullified despite his master surviving the fight. Slowly coming to care for the boy, his affection – his  _ love _ – a sickness he could not escape. The boy’s outbursts, the anger and darkness inside him a constant danger and yet… The boy claims the Force tells him they’re supposed to  _ be _ together, that Obi-Wan is  _ meant _ to be his teacher. His anger and frustration at Obi-Wan’s continued  _ rejection _ . His outburst after Obi-Wan’s return from Ilum. All of it culminating into the exchange in the hall today. 

“And he looked at me like… like he wanted to  _ kill _ me,” Obi-Wan whispers at last, and his throat is rough from how much he’s been talking, from the  _ emotion _ choking him. He knew that Anakin was mad with how they ended things, knew the boy would not be happy over his absence, but the sheer hatred in the boy’s eyes had been… It _ breaks Obi-Wan’s heart. _

Quinlan is quiet, expression contemplative. Finally he pushes Obi-Wan’s cup of Jawa juice at him before leaning back, stretching his arms above his head before laying them over the top of his booth. “Hate to break it to you, starbird, but I’m pretty sure the kid was glaring daggers at  _ me _ earlier.” 

Obi-Wan frowns, pulling the cup to him. “No, that’s ridiculous. He doesn’t even  _ know _ you, he hasn’t had time to learn to hate you yet,” he dismisses, taking a long pull of his drink and trying for his normal witty tone. It falls short, but Quinlan snorts all the same. 

_ And people think I’m an idiot _ , Quinlan thinks with a roll of his eyes. “Well, Kenobi,” he hums, watching the man start picking at his cold burger, “it sounds like you are well and truly  **fucked** .”

A sharp laugh escapes Obi-Wan despite himself. “You could say  _ that _ again.” He feels lighter, though, having gotten all this off his chest and having confided in one of his closest friends. He picks up his nerfburger and takes a bite, feeling inexplicably better. “So what do I  **_do_ ** about it?”

“Well,” Quinlan hums, leaning forward to steal more of Obi-Wan’s cold protato wedges. He smirks as the man swats at his hand, stealing another the next time the other Knight takes a bite of his burger. “Tonight you get absolutely  _ wasted _ with your  **closest** friends – and  _ Garen _ , I guess.” Obi-Wan rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling and Quinlan grins back. “And then tomorrow, you and I hit the Archives and start looking into starbirds and Duinuogwuin and whatnot.”

Obi-Wan pauses before taking another bite, lowering his burger to look at Quinlan skeptically. “Vos, are you saying you’re going to  _ voluntarily _ go into the Jedi Archives. For reasons  **_not_ ** to terrorize Master Jocasta?”

Quinlan shrugs, trying for nonchalance. “Yeah well I haven’t done something  _ crazy _ lately and the Council’s starting to relax. Can’t have them doing  _ that _ now, can I? Gotta keep those old bantha herders on their toes.” 

Obi-Wan’s face splits into a grin a second before he throws his head back and laughs, his body shaking with it, and Quinlan joins him a moment later, the two men feeling lighter than they have in ages here in this home away from home with their best friend. 

* * *

“Here’s to Knight Kenobi!” Quinlan cheers, holding his drink up. The rest of the room cheers with him, holding their drinks up in acknowledgement. “It only took him  **twelve kriffing years** to get here – seriously, Slowbi-Wan, did you like Old Jinny so much you  _ intentionally _ dragged it out as long as possible?  _ Ridiculous!  _ – but he’s finally,  _ finally _ where he belongs: a Knight of the Jedi Order! What a  _ fantastic _ lot we are! Welcome to the club, Obi, glad you could make it!  _ Now  _ **_drink!_ ** ”

A raucous laugh goes through the room as everyone knocks back their shots, and Obi-Wan can’t help but join them, his kyrf shot burning on the way down even as the fruity flavor bursts sharp and potent on his tongue.  _ Stars _ , Quinlan got the  **strong** stuff for tonight. Obi-Wan is going to be in  _ trouble _ tomorrow. 

Gold flicks in his periphery, and he turns as Siri Tachi laughs, throwing an arm around his shoulder and drawing him into a hard hug. The flush on Obi-Wan’s face is partly the alcohol, partly the woman’s proximity; the  _ attraction _ they’d shared all those years ago dimmed but not dead. She pulls back and grins, cerulean eyes shining. Spicewine wafts on her breath and Obi-Wan grins. “Congratulations,  _ Knight _ Kenobi,” she says, a bit too loud, but she has always been a larger than life character, a bright  **spark** in the Force. Her Padawan braid swings proud in the room, the last of them all to remain uncut, but he sees no jealousy, no animosity in her eyes as she slaps him on the shoulder. 

He reaches up and tugs her braid, a gesture familiar to all the Vant clan kids, something they all used to do to one another growing up. They grin at each other knowingly. “It’ll be _you_ next,” he assures her, and he’s also too loud, his body feeling a touch hotter than normal, his cheeks red and radiating heat. “It’ll happen any day now, Siri, I know it. Master Gallia is always _singing_ _your praises_ to Master Jinn!”

Something flickers across Siri’s face then, something Obi-Wan can’t read, but it’s there and gone again in a heartbeat. Her joy leaks into the Force to join all of theirs in the room, a golden glow that makes Obi-Wan’s heart feel swollen near to  **bursting** with affection for all these people who he grew up with. “Yeah, well when it’s  **_my_ ** turn,  _ Quinlan’s _ footing the bill for the booze!”

From across the room, Quinlan lets out an indignant shriek, and Siri laughs, turning away in a shower of gold to go goad the man more. Obi-Wan watches her go fondly before the next well wisher sidles up. 

Bant presses two wet kisses to either of Obi-Wan’s cheeks, and Obi-Wan laughs. “How much have you had to drink, my friend?” he asks, taking in the mildly glazed look in the Mon Calamari’s silver eyes. Her salmon skin is flushed a bright red, and she lifts a webbed hand to her forehead for a moment, grinning. 

“Not  _ nearly _ enough, but far more than  **you** ,” she laughs. “Something we must fix  _ immediately _ !”

She presses a cup into Obi-Wan’s hands. The lurid green shines up at him, and Obi-Wan turns disbelieving eyes up at the normally kind, reserved woman he regularly exchanges small gifts with. “Bant, there’s enough Twi’lek liquor in here to feld a  **Hutt** ! Are you  _ trying _ to kill me?” Obi-Wan laughs. The Mon Calamari giggles, tipping the cup up towards his lips and the room – having heard Obi-Wan’s exclamation – starts chanting for him to chug. Already slightly tipsy and more than a little drunk off the joyous atmosphere of his friend he’s missed so dearly, Obi-Wan chugs. 

The effects are instantaneous with this much Twi’lek liquor, intoxication setting in immediately. Obi-Wan flips the drained glass and only a few pitiful drops hit the floor. The occupants of the room erupt in wild cheers, taking deep drinks of their own. 

The last of the party slides in to fill the space Bant leaves behind, Garen grabbing Obi-Wan by the waist to stabilize him as the other man starts to sway. Obi-Wan grins wide, sea green eyes shining. “Garen!” he croons, words slurring as he leans heavily into the other man. “Garen, y’  _ came _ !”

Garen laughs, cheeks flushed. “Of course, Obi-Wan. I wouldn’t have missed this for the  _ world _ .” 

Obi-Wan hums, still grinning. He speaks slower than normal, obviously struggling with his words. “Garen. Gar’n, thank you for ‘nviting ev’ryone. Th’s – th-this was  _ perfect _ .”

“A _–anything_ for you, Obi,” Garen breathes, voice quiet in the loud room. He clears his throat and grabs Quinlan’s cup as he walks by, knocking it back and immediately wrinkling his nose. “Oh Revan’s sweaty balls. Quinlan, what the kark _was_ **_that_**?!”

Quinlan was bowled over laughing, hand on his knees wheezing. When he stood up, he had to wipe a tear from his eye, his tan skin not quite flushed but Obi-Wan could practically  _ feel _ the man’s body heat from where he stood. “Think about Revan’s balls a lot, do ya Garen?” he shakes, holding his stomach and Garen lets go of Obi-Wan to step forward, hand fisting the other man’s shirt. “Relax, Muln, ‘s just Dust Juice! Won’t  _ kill _ ya!” 

Garen snarls, letting the other man go and steps around him, shoulder checking him as he passes on the way to the bathroom, presumably to wash the foul taste from his mouth. Turning after him, Quinlan cups his mouth. “Try not to think about Revan’s  **balls** while you’re in there! Ain’t nobody need to clean  _ that _ mess up, loverboy!” If Garen could slam the bathroom door, he would have. 

A heavy weight hits Quinlan’s back, hands wrapping around his waist as a face burrows against his neck. “Leave ‘im al’ne, Quin,” Obi-Wan slurs, hiccuping. “Y’re so  _ mean _ t’ him.” 

“Ah, ‘m only  _ teasin’ _ ,” Quinlan laughs, putting a hand over Obi-Wan’s. “You know I love that bastard nerfherder.” 

“D’ you love  **_me_ ** , too?” Obi-Wan hums, blinking hazy green eyes up at him through thick auburn lashes. Quinlan feels something twist in his stomach, a flutter in his chest. He’d said he’d loved Garen in an offhand way, the way he says he loves Dex’s burgers or he loves a good shower after a long mission. “ _ Yeah _ ,” he whispers, reaching a hand up to brush strands of fiery hair from Obi-Wan’s eyes tenderly. The drunk Knight blinks slowly, lashes fluttering against his cheeks before he looks up at Quinlan with such hopeful, vulnerable eyes that Quinlan’s heart  **_aches_ ** . How could anyone not love this man? He’d loved him on Ragoon VI, when they’d raced around trying to show one another up. When the other boy had jumped over the cliff after him with no thought to  _ himself _ , no  **hesitation** . When he’d  _ burned _ his way through the water, exposing himself and risking  _ everything _ just to save Quinlan’s life like he could  _ possibly _ be more important, more special than a  **starbird** . When he’d poured his love, his  **_fire_ ** into Quinlan’s body and it chased Quinlan through where he’d been fading away to become one with the Force,  _ dragging _ him back to his body, to life, to Obi-Wan. He’d loved him in all the years since, in all the missions, the messages, the stolen moments. He loves him as a friend, and he loves him as a  **brother** , and he loves him as  _ more _ than that, something so intricately wound into Quinlan’s existence that he can’t  _ imagine _ his life without Obi-Wan anymore. It’s not sexual, it’s not romantic. It’s something  _ beautiful _ , something  **pure** . He cherishes it more than  _ anything else _ in the world. “ _ Yeah _ , Obi,  **_I love you_ ** .” 

Obi-Wan smiles at him bright and blinding, and his signature in the Force flares up like a nova, spreading two large wings and  _ sours _ . It takes Quinlan’s breath away, awe striking him dumb as he watches the  **phoenix** rise. 

“You two are far too  _ sober _ over here!” Siri shouts, ruining the moment, and Quinlan wants to  **punch** her, wants to shove her to the ground and  **bloody** her right then and there. The phoenix fizzles away, and the room feels  _ colder _ with its absence. 

Obi-Wan turns his gaze to Siri, his chin never leaving where it’s resting against Quinlan’s shoulder. “Siri, ‘m  _ def’nately _ not sober,” he hums, arms wrapped around Quinlan, and Quinlan lets his hands fall to rest on top over them. “You make me drink any more, ‘n’ ‘m not g’nna be  _ funct’nal _ tom’rrow.”

Siri grins, wicked and bright, and normally Quinlan would be right there with her, ever the instigator, always feeding the fire, but he’s still feeling the repercussions of that tender moment between him and Obi-Wan,  _ protectiveness _ flaring bright in his chest. “That’s the  _ point _ , Obi. You’re not  _ supposed _ to be functional tomorrow! And the fact you can still use words like  **functional** means you’re  _ still _ too sober!” Bant giggles and cheers her agreement as Siri holds two cups forward. “Come on boy,  **drink up** !”

He feels the puff of air against his neck as Obi-Wan sighs and fights not to shiver. The other man’s hand shifts under his, and Quinlan knows he’s about to reach forward, ever the one to give in to peer pressure,  _ always _ the people pleaser. Honestly, what would Obi-Wan  _ do _ without him? Quinlan reaches forward with both hands and grabs both cups, draining one glass then the other before anyone can so much as blink. The alcohol hits him like a durasteel wall after a ten foot drop and it’s sheer force of will and the fact that he’s likely the only thing holding Obi-Wan up that keeps him from swaying. 

Quinlan grins. “C’me on, Tachi. Yer fallin’ behind.” Competitive as ever, Siri flares up, incited. 

“You’re  **_on_ ** , Vos.”

_ Aaaand _ that’s how at two o’clock in the morning, the five of them are passed out in Obi-Wan’s room after a solid five hours of drinking. 

Quinlan manages to keep Siri off Obi-Wan for a good hour only to turn around and realize that while he’d been martyring himself in a drink off with the girl,  **_Bant_ ** has been pouring drinks down the starbird’s throat. Everyone thinks she’s so  _ innocent _ , but it’s always the  **quiet** ones you have to watch out for. 

Garen is his normal fumbling self around Obi-Wan, and  _ honestly _ , how Kenobi hasn’t realized the boy has a crush on him bigger than the moons of Tython Quinlan cannot figure out (probably has to do with Obi-Wan’s shitty self-esteem – Quinlan’s  _ working on it _ , ok). But he’s harmless as always, a kriffing pile of Endorian chicken shit when it comes to Obi-Wan, so he just flushes redder than Bant anytime Obi-Wan even smiles his way and takes shot after shot. 

Bant herself finds the Calamari Xinphar that Quinlan had brought especially for her and drinks  _ the  _ **_entire_ ** _ bottle _ . She’s the first one to pass out, and all four of them have to work together to very clumsily drag her into Obi-Wan’s bathroom and put her in the tub so she doesn’t dry out overnight, Obi-Wan’s room not nearly humid enough to provide the moisture needed for the Mon Calamari. Brat doesn’t even wake up  _ once _ . She definitely deserves whatever bumps and bruises she wakes up with from their haphazard struggle to hoist her into the tub while shitfaced.

Garen is next, passing out upside down on the couch, legs thrown over the back and head touching the floor.  _ How _ he ends up in that position, Quinlan has no idea, but Siri and he had totally wanted to leave him like that just to see what kinds of aches and pains the Starfighter would wake up with. But then  _ goodie goodie _ Obi-Wan had batted those big eyes at them and tried to right Garen all on his own. They let him try for a bit, and Garen was gonna have some nasty bruises from Obi-Wan’s elbows where he had to catch himself from all the swaying. But then Obi-Wan nearly lists over and brains  _ himself _ on his table, and Quinlan and Siri finally step in and help, getting Garen set up on the couch. Quinlan draws the line at finding a guest pillow and blanket for the man and Obi-Wan doesn’t even bother bringing it up. 

Which leaves  **three** . 

Siri, evil genius that she is, manages to pull Obi-Wan in for a drinking game that turns into them all trying to one up each other for the  **craziest padawan mission** . It’s unclear who wins because honestly, the missions they get sent on are all kinds of  **fucked** , and they all three end up drinking just because  **_their lives_ ** **.**

When Siri passes out next, head hitting the table, Quinlan actually lets out a  **victory** cheer. Obi-Wan swats his face trying to shush him. They drag her up onto the couch with Geran. She big spoons the man and he smiles happily, and Quinlan wishes he could take holovids so they could never,  _ ever _ forget this. 

Obi-Wan grabs his hand and drags him to his room as he snickers, though, so he lets it slide. 

_ Force _ , he loves Knighting ceremonies. 

Obi-Wan peels off his tunic with clumsy fingers, his hair poofing slightly when he gets it over his head. It’s still short from the standard padawan cut, but it’s starting to grow in, reaching about Obi-Wan’s ears now. Quinlan wonders how long he’ll let it grow out. He likes it longer; it looks like the flames he knows lives in the man’s core. Obi-Wan collapses on top of the covers and then worms around until he somehow gets  _ under _ them, huffing before looking up at Quinlan expectantly. 

“C’m on, Quin. ‘m  _ tired _ ,” he grumbled, face half buried against his pillow. He lifts up the blanket and holds his arms open for Quinlan, and they haven’t slept together like this since they were kids on mission together. Quinlan slides into the bed and Obi-Wan immediately wraps his arms around his waist, tucking his head under Quinlan’s chin and shuffling in close, slipping a leg between Quinlan’s.  _ Force _ , he missed this closeness, this casual affection and intimacy. It’s so  **nice** to hold someone like this, with no expectations of  _ more _ , no  **need** for more. Quinlan presses a kiss to Obi-Wan’s crown, breathing him in. “I love you  _ too _ , you know,” Obi-Wan whispers, words slow but clear, the man clearly working hard to keep his voice from slurring. Quinlan draws back to meet Obi-Wan’s eyes, and they’re alight, the  **phoenix** shining bright and beautiful in their emerald depths. 

“I know, Obi,” he whispers back, pressing another kiss to the man’s crown before tucking him against him and closing his eyes.  **Contentment** fills his chest, mixing with the alcohol to make his body heavy and drag him to the blissful release of sleep, Obi-Wan warm and steady in his arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave me kudos and comments if you enjoyed!!


	6. Hangovers & Sparring Battles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You _kriffing womp-rat_ ,” Quinlan laughs, lunging for him and Obi-Wan dodges under his arm again, jumping onto the other man’s back and getting him into a choke hold. Quinlan slips a hand between Obi-Wan’s arm and his throat and _twists_ , flinging the other man over his shoulder. Obi-Wan twists in the air before landing easily in a crouch. “You’re **bantha fodder** , Kenobi.”
> 
> “E tu cha,” Obi-Wan offers sagely and then sprints off in the direction of the nearest training room, Quinlan hot on his heels. 
> 
> Qui-Gon watches the men go, remembering all the years of similar exchanges in these halls and on planets scattered throughout the galaxy with fondness. He chuckles and pats Anakin’s shoulder. The boy looks half scared, half scandalized. “Come along then, let’s go watch them. This will be a good learning opportunity for you, Padawan.”
> 
> “What form does Knight Vos practice?” Anakin asked as they walked.
> 
> “He’s an Ataru user like me,” Qui-Gon said, “and he’s **very** good. He’s also been training to use the reverse grip of Shien, or form five.” 
> 
> Anakin hums. “Obi-Wan will beat him,” he says with absolute certainty. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **MAJOR SHOUTOUT TO MY GIRL[SHATOU](https://shatouto.tumblr.com/) FOR THE AMAZING ART OF OBI-WAN'S LIGHTSABERS!! I COMMISSIONED THIS ART A COUPLE WEEKS AGO BC I WAS STRUGGLING TO VISUALIZE THE LIGHTSABERS IN MY HEAD AND JUST ALSKJOICASJASJFA YALL THIS FUCKING BEAUTIFUL SHIT?! HIGHLY RECOMMEND HITTING SHATOU UP IF YOU EVER NEED ANY ART DONE FOR YOUR FICS!! HER COMMISSIONS ARE OPEN!!**
> 
> Lol I nearly missed posting this week bc my life has been a mess. Feel free to skip the next little bit bc it doesn't pertain to the story, just my shitshow of a life. But yeah, my cousin found my uncle unresponsive in his room and he got rushed to the trauma 1 hospital back home. He's in the ICU and now my mom and I are doing a cross-country road trip back home. I was already planning on driving back home for my two month research/holiday blocks, but now it's kind of also bc my uncle may be dying?? So life is kind of a mess for me rn. Yay. So this update almost didn't happen and really only did bc we had to stop in a Motel 6 for the night bc it was literally raining so hard we couldn't see the road anymore. So... I hope you enjoy this. Please leave reviews bc I could really use some positive shit in my life rn.

His mouth feels like something crawled into it, procreated exponentially, and then proceeded to undergo **mass extinction** . He groans, extricating himself from the tangle of limbs clinging to him and hears Quinlan _whine_ as he jostles the other man in the process. He feels bad, but mostly he needs to brush his teeth and soak in the fresher for a good half hour. His head is _throbbing_ and the world spins if he turns his head too quickly, and what’s that _ringing_ noise?

“Get the kriffing _door_!” someone roars – Siri, his mind supplies, dazed – as the doorbell rings again, the shrill sound piercing through the space. Obi-Wan presses his palms against his ears and moans in pain. 

“You’re closer,” he calls out and regrets it instantly; speaking that loud making his head throb with a **vengeance**. 

“It’s _your_ doshing room, bastard!” Well, he can’t argue with _that_ logic. 

He stands out of bed, arms immediately going out to keep himself from overbalancing as the world spins around him. He breathes through it, closing his eyes before rapidly opening them when he realizes that makes it _worse_ and his stomach lurches almost painfully. Sithspit. The doorbell goes off again, and Siri’s voice is nearly as shrill when she screams, “The _door_ , moof-milker!” And _really_ , if she has the presence of mind to come up with such colorful insults, she can get the blasted door. 

“I’m _coming_ , you criking steaming pile of bantha crap!” he snarls and hears Quinlan give a sharp laugh and then immediately hiss in pain. Kriff him, too, the nerfherder. 

He walks on unsteady legs to his front door and the doorbell goes off another two times, each one eliciting another round of colorful profanity from Siri, moans of pain from Geran, and gurgles from Bant. Quinlan is silent in his room, probably back asleep the asshole. 

Stabbing the button to open the door, Obi-Wan grinds his teeth against the blinding light from outside. “ **_What?_ ** ” he snarls, clenching his teeth and blinking past the spots in his vision, unable to see who exactly it is _eviscerating_ their eardrums this early in the morning. 

Surprise flares in the Force, bright and powerful, nearly as blinding as the sudden sunlight, followed by **joy** and relief. Obi-Wan nearly _crashes_ down to the ground as Anakin rushes forward, arms wrapping around his torso in a crushing hug. “Obi-Wan!”

“ _Anakin?_ ” Obi-Wan wheezes, hungover brain struggling to catch up to what’s going on. “Anakin, what – what are you _doing_ here?

Anakin draws away enough to glare up at him accusingly, lips drawn down into a frown. “You missed breakfast. We waited _all morning_ , but you **never** showed up. Mister Qui-Gon said that you probably just stayed up late, but you said you were coming over and you **_didn’t_ **, so I came to get you.”

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan groans, pressing the heel of his hand to his eyes until he sees spots. The world is spinning around him, but the pain helps focus him. He opens his eyes and runs a hand through his hair. “Anakin, we were _sleeping_. Master Jinn was right and we were up very late last night. You should have waited until we woke up and came over for lunch.”

Anakin’s lower lip trembles and he presses his face to Obi-Wan’s bare skin. A hand immediately comes down to cup the back of his head and he leans into the touch like a Loth-cat, _begging_ to be pet. “But I _missed_ you. I haven’t seen you in _ages_ , and you were **supposed** to come.”

Obi-Wan pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs. “Alright, _alright_ . Give me a few minutes to get cleaned up and we can head over for lunch with Qui-Gon, but let the others _sleep_ for star’s sake, okay?”

Jubilation lights the air around them, Anakin’s smile threatening to split his face in two. He’s practically vibrating in Obi-Wan’s arms. “Okay!”

“What the Sith is all the _noise_ about?” Quinlan growls, stepping out of Obi-Wan’s rooms. He yawns, stretching his arms over his head, and Obi-Wan turns to look at him as he scratches at his bare chest, his eyes hooded and heavy still with sleep, pillow creases on one side of his face and long hair ruffled from where he’d slept on it. 

“Sorry, Quinlan,” Obi-Wan says softly, mindful of the other people trying to sleep in the room. “Anakin was just wondering why we missed breakfast and came to check on us.”

**Anger** flares dark and terrible in his arms, and Obi-Wan’s head snaps back to Anakin, shocked. The boy’s eyes are locked on Quinlan where he stands in Obi-Wan’s bedroom door, that same look of **hatred** he had yesterday in his eyes. “ **_He_ ** slept in your room last night?” Anakin growls, the timber of his voice low. The dragon writhes in his eyes when he turns them up to look at Obi-Wan accusingly. “Why does **_he_ ** get to sleep with you but **_I_ ** don’t?”

The panic is rising in his throat, that instinctive need to _run, run, run_ making itself known. Quinlan’s hand comes down on Obi-Wan’s shoulder and _squeezes_ , but where Anakin’s arms feel like a vice around him, Quinlan’s touch is comforting. Obi-Wan looks at him gratefully, touching his hand briefly before reaching down to pry the boy’s arms off from around him. Anakin resists, making an angry, frustrated sound, but Obi-Wan persists until finally he’s free and he can cup the boy’s face to make him look at him. “Anakin, dear one. Quinlan stayed the night just like _you_ have many times before because he is my **friend** , same as you. You must let this jealousy _go_ , Padawan, it is a very dark and dangerous emotion. Come now and release it into the Force with me, okay?”

Anakin’s hands come up to cover Obi-Wan’s, his eyes searching his frantically. “I – I don’t know how,” he says, sounding scared. “I don’t know _how_ , Obi-Wan.” 

“Yes you do, Padawan,” he soothes, running a thumb over the boy’s cheeks. “We practiced this before, remember? When we meditated in the Hall of a Thousand Fountains. Breathe with me like we did then and focus on this anger, this jealousy you’re feeling. Think about how you’re feeling it and _why_ . **Accept** that you’re feeling it for it is a natural emotion to have, it makes us _human_ . But do **not** allow it to fester. Accept that you have felt it, but let yourself focus on the _rest_ of what you feel and release this darkness into the Force so that it does not **consume** you. Let it be a _part_ of you, but do not let it be _all_ that you are, _all_ that you feel, and do **not** let it _control_ you.” 

As he talks, he keeps his voice low, soft, soothing. He lengthens his breaths like he would if he were meditating and he keeps his eyes on Anakin, watching the boy carefully. Anakin keeps looking at him desperately, as though if he takes his eyes off Obi-Wan he’ll disappear. But he listens. He breathes with Obi-Wan, and Obi-Wan can feel him collecting up all the darkness he’d been projecting, condensing and containing it. He struggles with this part, trying again and again to release it but failing. This had been such a struggle for him in the months after Qui-Gon’s injury, one of the hardest lessons Obi-Wan had taught him. It had taken **ages** for them to figure this out, weeks before Anakin had finally grown frustrated enough to confess to Obi-Wan that the traditional way of releasing emotions into the Force _just_ _didn’t work for him_. It had something to do with him being the Force Child. Releasing things into the Force only seemed to lead to them _coming back_ to him, but **intensified**. It had taken weeks more of trial and error for them to come up with this, for Obi-Wan to abandon his attempts to stick to the new-age Order’s philosophy and Code and revert back to the Code of old. _Emotion, yet peace. Passion, yet serenity. Chaos, yet harmony._ Anakin still struggled under their new method, his emotions so strong, demanding to be felt. But… 

Obi-Wan waits patiently, keeps breathing with him and lets him search his eyes for whatever he needs until he _finally_ feels that darkness sink away into the Force. 

Behind him, he feels a collective sigh of relief as all the Knights in the room relax, having been drawn tight by the storm of darkness and negativity. He hears Siri groan and Geran join her, hears some pitiful sounding bubbles from Bant in the bathroom. He feels Quinlan give his shoulder one last squeeze before he lets go. 

Obi-Wan runs a hand through Anakin’s hair, smiling at the boy proudly. “Good job, Anakin. I _knew_ you could do it.”

“Yeah,” Anakin says, sounding awed, and he’s still looking at Obi-Wan. “Yeah, I guess I did.”

Obi-Wan ruffles his hair and then straightens, letting his hands fall back to his sides. Anakin’s hands make as though to grab for him before he fists them into his robes. “Alright, well if you give me a few minutes, I’ll go get ready and we can go have lunch with Master Jinn.”

“Okay,” Anakin says, and visibly brightens again. This time when Obi-Wan moves and Quinlan comes into view, his smile falters slightly, but the well of dark emotions doesn’t spring forth. It’s progress, at least. 

“ _So_ ,” Quinlan hums, running fingers through his hair as he follows Obi-Wan towards the bathroom. “What do you think we’re having for lunch?”

The spike of jealousy that follows is smaller than before, Anakin cutting it off almost as soon as it starts. Obi-Wan keeps walking to the bathroom, but his shoulders are tense, his senses opened to the Force as he watches the boy struggle to concentrate and contain the emotion and then release it. Quinlan’s false relaxed stance gives away his own hypervigilance of the situation. On the couch, Siri feigns sleep, but Obi-Wan can see where she’s summoned her saber to her side. Geran’s hand touches along his belt where Obi-Wan suspects his _own_ saber would be. Finally, the boy releases the emotion into the Force and all the Jedi in the room collectively relax. “If _Qui-Gon’s_ cooking? We might as well **eat out**.”

Quinlan makes a contemplative noise. “I could go for a nerfburger.”

Obi-Wan _laughs_. 

Bant squirts water at them from the tub while they brush their teeth for waking her up, and Obi-Wan combs Quinlan’s hair after the man tries to run his fingers through the strands and call that “Good enough.”

They wander over to Obi-Wan’s bedroom and throw on the same clothes as yesterday, Obi-Wan crinkling his nose from the strong alcohol smell. _Oh well._

“Oi, bring us food back, sleemos!” Siri shouts as they’re leaving. 

“Not a chance, peedunky,” Obi-Wan calls over his shoulder, waving. The woman snorts and he hears something clunk against the door as it hisses closed.

“Kriffing madwoman,” Quinlan huffs, tone fond.

“Indeed.” Anakin is looking at them both with wide eyes. Obi-Wan frowns, looking down at his clothes to make sure they aren’t covered in alcohol or vomit or something. They’re blessedly clean. “What is it, Anakin?”

Anakin shakes his head, but he still looks surprised. “I just… I’ve never heard you _curse_ before, Obi-Wan.”

Quinlan throws his head back and laughs, slapping Obi-Wan on the back. “You've been on your _best_ behavior for the kid, haven’t you, Kenobi?” He smirks down at Anakin. “I’ll let you in on a secret, kid: piss him off enough and _Saint Obi-Wan_ here’ll curse worse than a who –” He doesn’t get to finish his sentence, Obi-Wan’s fist **slamming** into his flank – _in the same kriffing spot Obi-Wan!_ – cutting him off. 

“Come along, Anakin,” Obi-Wan says, putting a hand on the boy’s back as Quinlan curses under his breath, doubled over with a hand pressed to his flank. He is _too hungover_ for this abuse, dammit. “Let’s go eat.”

* * *

Turns out Qui-Gon had _no idea_ that Anakin was going to grab the Jedi Knights (not that Obi-Wan thought he did – the Jedi Master knew enough about morning afters to have _some_ sympathy after all) so he doesn’t have lunch prepared… so they talk him into taking them to Dex’s easily. Anakin is wide eyed the entire cruiser ride over, staring with open amazement at the work of engineering that is Coruscant. 

The Besalisk greets them as exuberantly as ever, as though he hadn’t just seen Obi-Wan and Quinlan yesterday. Obi-Wan has to hold on to a booth for a solid two minutes after the Dex’s jostling full body hug, the world spinning so violently he’s actually surprised when he _doesn’t_ throw up the entire contents of his body on the diner floor. Quinlan also looks green, holding his head and leaning heavily against Obi-Wan as he gets his bearings. Qui-Gon, the **bastard** , laughs at their misery, loud and grating, and Obi-Wan reminds himself of this for the next time the Jedi Master shows up whimpering at his doorway. 

When they introduce Anakin, he looks only _momentarily_ overwhelmed by the hulking creature before he’s grinning widely up at Dex and asking him questions rapidfire about how he knows Obi-Wan, how long, where’d they meet, what did Obi-Wan look like when he was only just older than Anakin? Dex, the jackass, throws his head back and laughs and then tells Hermoine to mind the diner so he can have lunch with his new friend. 

And while it’s _mildly_ alarming how many questions Anakin asks about him – this borderline obsession the boy has developed is something they’re going to have to address _sooner_ rather than later – Obi-Wan has to admit that it’s **fun** . They trade stories back and forth through lunch, talking about all the missions Quinlan and he used to run with Dex out in the Outer Rim. Dex tells them a couple stories about his life before they met, when he was a professional fighter and a smuggler. He tells the story of how he and Obi-Wan met no less than **three times** at Anakin’s request, never sounding frustrated at being asked to tell it again and _always_ smiling at the boy’s obvious joy of the memory. 

By the time they’ve finished their meal, Obi-Wan feels _incandescent_ and were he in his true form, he knows a song would spill from his chest to grace the heavens like Ventis’ all those years ago, the memory of his brother making him feel nostalgic rather than gutted as it normally does.

Qui-Gon pays for their meal, and Dex gives them all another round of hugs, Anakin getting to experience his first from the Besalisk. He goes away from the encounter looking dazed and a little rumpled, but otherwise unharmed, Dex having held back so as not to harm the boy. Qui-Gon thumps him on one of his arms and thanks him for a wonderful time before leaving, steering Anakin out even as the boy looks back questioningly as Obi-Wan and Quinlan linger with their friend. 

Obi-Wan hugs Dex tight, and Dex almost looks surprised with the **vigor** with which he squeezes him. “ _Thank you_ for a **lovely** memory, Dex,” Obi-Wan whispers as he holds the man, and he feels four arms squeeze him just a tad **tighter** before they let go. 

Quinlan grins and steps into Dex’s hug, slapping the other’s back. “Ah, Dex, it’s _always_ a pleasure.” He draws back but stays close. “Before we go, there’s something I wanna ask you, old friend.” 

Obi-Wan frowns, brows furrowing as he recognizes Quinlan’s mission voice. Dex must also recognize the man’s tone because he hums and moves them to sit at the end of the bar. “What is it, Quinlan my boy?”

“I can’t give you all the details, but I was on a mission recently and some sleemos I was tracking mentioned that they were hunting something,” Quinlan whispers, voice low. Obi-Wan feels Quinlan’s shields snap into place around them. “They said they were hunting _starbirds_.”

Obi-Wan’s stomach _drops_. 

“Starbirds, eh?” Dex says, one of his hands coming up to stroke his chin. “You mean those ones from the legends that’re supposed to be born from novas and immortal?”

“Yeah, those ones,” Quinlan nods. “I thought they were myths, too, but I’ve been doing some digging around the Archives and I’ve seen them mentioned a few times. I was hoping you could do some digging for me and see if you could come up with anything through your channels?”

Dex rubs his chin some more, looking thoughtful. “I’m not sure if I’ll come up with anything, but I’ll see what I can do, son. Information was always more _your_ thing than mine.”

Quinlan shoots him a bright smile. “Thanks, Dex. I owe ya.”

The Besalisk lightly boxes the Knight’s chin, chuckling. “You owe me nothing, kid. You both’re **family** , far as I’m concerned. You ever need anything, all you gotta do is ask.”

Despite how Obi-Wan’s blood runs cold with dread, he can’t help but smile at the other’s words. “Thanks, Dex, and the same goes to _you_ as well. If you need anything, you need only ask and we will try our best to help.”

Dex huffs, two of his hands coming up and ruffling both of their hair. “Ah, get outta here the both of ya before you make an old man cry. And make sure to visit again next time you’re planetside. Bring that padawan of yours, too, Obi-Wan. He’s a real **hoot**.” 

Obi-Wan’s smile wavers, but he nods. “Bye, Dex. See you, next time! Bye Hermoine!”

“Bye, sweethearts! Don’t be strangers!” the waitress calls from where she’s bussing tables, grinning at them as they leave. 

Soon as the door closes behind them, Obi-Wan is shoving Quinlan. “What in the blazes is _wrong_ with you, Vos?” he hisses. 

Quinlan raises his hands in surrender. “Calm down, Obi-Wan. I’m just trying to get as much information as possible. Dex might be able to find some information we won’t get from the Archives. Isn’t that worth asking about?”

“ **Not** if someone catches him asking about starbirds and decides he knows where one _is_ ,” Obi-Wan snarls, his rage flaring up and lighting his eyes, his hair. He can feel it tingling under his skin, threatening to **ignite** and he has to take several deep breaths. “They would do **worse** than kill him, Quinlan, if they thought he knew where a starbird was.”

Quinlan frowns, sensing **pain** radiating off the Knight – a deep pain that comes from more than a lifetime’s worth of experience. He lays a hand on Obi-Wan’s shoulder. “ _No one’s_ gonna go after Dex, Obi-Wan.”

“You don’t **know** that,” he whispers, pushing Quinlan’s hand off his shoulder and walking back to the cruiser where Qui-Gon and Anakin wait, Anakin’s glare trained on Quinlan. 

The ride back to the Temple is mostly quiet. Until Qui-Gon decides to break it, of course. “Obi-Wan, did you finish constructing your new lightsaber?”

Obi-Wan shifts from where he’d been staring unseeingly out the transparisteel window, seated as far away from Quinlan as possible. Anakin has been alternating between looking worriedly at him and glaring _daggers_ at Quinlan up until now, but his intrigue colors the Force immediately. “Yes, Master, I did.” 

“Well then, let us see,” Qui-Gon says, glancing back. Obi-Wan nods and dutifully pulls back his jacket to reveal not one but _two_ lightsabers. He unclips them from his belt and presents them. The handles look keenly similar to his first saber, the resemblance to Qui-Gon’s own apparent. Running about 28 centimeters in length and 5 centimeters in diameter each, the hilts are composed of a scalloped grip created by multiple power cells running together in the interior. This runs down nearly the entire length of the hilt, one end tapering inward before attaching to a ball socket locking mechanism. At the bottom back of the saber is the charging port and set at the front top between the power cells are buttons to control the size and power of the blade. 

The metal casing surrounding the saber is nearly the same as Qui-Gon’s, though the color differs. Where Qui-Gon’s is the traditional silver that most other Jedi use by default, Obi-Wan has customized his, his hilt a bronze-gold shine. A complete circle runs along the bottom above the base and a column runs along the back of the hilt, a gap placed to allow for a charging port. In the front a space is left where the multiple stacked power cells are exposed to give the lightsaber a scalloped grip and provide the user better traction when wielding the weapon. The alloy he’d used joins together to form two pillars at the top where his blade will emerge when powered up. The other saber is a mirror image. 

“You have **_two_ ** lightsabers?!” Anakin exclaims, reaching out to touch one. Obi-Wan lets him run his fingers along the scalloped grip, making sure he keeps the control buttons safely under his own grasp so the boy can’t accidentally turn the blade on. 

“I was lucky enough to be chosen by two kyber crystals in my trial on Ilum,” Obi-Wan hums, looking at his new sabers fondly. “I will have to train hard to be _worthy_ of them; my skills at Jar’Kai have grown rusty with disuse.”

“What’s Jar’Kai? Why are they that color when Qui-Gon’s lightsaber is silver? If you could build your lightsaber to look like _anything_ , why did you make it so **boring**? What color is your blade: blue or green?” Anakin asks, the questions spilling out of him one after the other without time for Obi-Wan to answer between the two. 

“Give him time to answer, Padawan,” Qui-Gon chuckles, landing the cruiser back in the hangar. He starts the power down sequence and they all shuffle off the ship. “Remember: patience is a virtue.”

Anakin scrunched his nose at that, but looked up expectantly at Obi-Wan instead of firing off _more_ questions as they walked back into the Temple. Obi-Wan smiles, amused despite himself. “Jar’Kai is a dueling style that uses two blades. It still uses the seven forms that normal duelists use, but you must adapt each to accommodate having _two_ weapons rather than one. And I used a durasteel-bronzium alloy rather than _pure_ durasteel for the hilt, which is why it is bronze rather than silver. As for why I built it to look like this, well, there are _several_ reasons for that.”

Anakin hums, looking at him expectantly. Qui-Gon and Quinlan both look interested to know the answer, so Obi-Wan smiles and indulges them. “It is _tradition_ for a padawan to fashion their lightsaber similar to their master’s, even after they have been made a Knight and a Master themselves. As you can see, my saber looks quite similar to Master Jinn’s. I kept the concept of stacking power cells on top of one another and the control mechanism is the same. The placement of the charging dock is, too. I do this to **honor** my former Master, for without him I would not be the Jedi I am now. **Your lightsaber is your life** , Padawan, and it is only **just** to fashion it after those who have touched your life _most_ .” He shares a look with Qui-Gon, letting his respect and affection shine through the Force where it no longer can through their severed training bond. He mourns the loss for but a moment, but cannot mind it for too long as this is the natural progression of things. Live, die, repeat: he knows the cycle far too well to begrudge this life moving forward. Qui-Gon nods his head in answer, his _own_ acknowledgement of their eternal bond. He turns his attention back to Anakin, who watches him still, waiting to be taught more. “However, while the general shape of the saber is similar, there _are_ some changes. Since I have two sabers, I put a locking mechanism at the bottom here. This way if I ever choose to, I can turn my two weapons into one and fight with a double-bladed lightsaber, or a saberstaff. This weapon is _very_ difficult to use, though, so I do not want to see you trying to play with it, understand?”

“Yes, Obi-Wan,” Anakin entones, sounding petulant. Obi-Wan doesn’t believe him for a _second_ and makes a note to keep a close eye on Anakin any time his sabers are nearby.

“Additionally, I’ve changed the shape a bit on top up here. This is more… _personal_ preference. To fit my style, I suppose you could say,” Obi-Wan hums, looking at the blade happily. “It may seem… _boring_ , as you say, but I have never been one for much fanfare. I like nice clean lines and the beauty in **minimalism** . Speak _less_ , say **more** , if you will. They’re not flashy, but they are **_mine_ **.”

He’s quiet after that, looking at his blades with pride as they walk down the halls of the Temple. Anakin grows increasingly restless next to him until finally he bursts. “Ok, but what **color** are your blades: blue or green?”

Obi-Wan laughs, coming to a stop. He ruffles the boy’s hair as he stares up at him indignantly. “Oh, Anakin,” he sighs, grinning mischievously. Qui-Gon and Quinlan immediately recognize that look and arch their brows. “ _Neither_ , dear one. Neither.” 

He presses the controls on his blades. 

Fiery **orange** blades burst to life. 

* * *

It takes the better part of an _hour_ for them to get Anakin to calm down. Every time they almost succeed, the boy catches another glimpse of Obi-Wan’s saber hilts on his belt and starts right back up. 

“They’re **_orange_ ** , Obi-Wan! **_Orange!_ ** ” he squeals, eyes wide with childish delight. Of course, this turns into a lesson about kyber crystals and their colors, their history and the previous significance of the blade colors. Obi-Wan of course had stayed silent, arching his brow and giving Qui-Gon significant looks until the Jedi Master had sighed and been the one to start the lecture. Obi-Wan has done _enough_ teaching today, thank you very much. They have to reinforce Qui-Gon’s status as Master any chance they get with Anakin so that the boy _finally_ accepts the fact that Obi-Wan is **not** his teacher. 

By the end of it, Anakin looks thoughtful. “So Mister Qui-Gon’s blade is green, which would have made him a Consular. But Obi-Wan, your lightsaber was blue when we were on Naboo, so you would have been a Guardian. Why did _your_ crystal change colors? And you said orange crystals are rare so how did you find _two_ of them?”

Obi-Wan shrugs. “I’m not sure, Anakin. My best guess is that something changed between the time when I last entered the Crystal Cave and when I went this time that changed how I feel in the Force, and because of this I was attuned to a different kind of crystal than before. As to why I attracted two crystals, I don’t know that for sure. Perhaps the Force is telling me I’m meant to be a Jar’Kai practitioner. Perhaps sometime soon I will lose one in battle. The Force works in mysterious ways, Padawan. I merely accept its will and continue on.”

Anakin nods, that thoughtful look on his face remaining. 

Quinlan finally steps forward, slinging an arm over Obi-Wan’s shoulder. “Well then, since you’re done making your big reveal and teaching the Padawan, how’s about we break your sabers in then? It’s been awhile since I _kicked your ass_ , Kenobi.”

Obi-Wan smirks, ducking out from under Quinlan’s arm and hovering a few steps back, hands in the pockets of his jacket. “If I remember _correctly_ , Quinlan, I was the one knocking _your_ sorry hide into the **mud** on Telos IV _last_ time we sparred,” he says, smiling innocently. 

“Oh, just for that I’m **not** gonna go easy on you at all, no matter _how_ shitty your Jar’Kai is,” Quinlan grins, stepping after him. 

Obi-Wan rocks back and forth on his heels, grinning even wider. “Alright. But don’t **cry** when I still pummel you with my _shitty Jar’Kai_.”

“You _kriffing womp-rat_ ,” Quinlan laughs, lunging for him and Obi-Wan dodges under his arm again, jumping onto the other man’s back and getting him into a choke hold. Quinlan slips a hand between Obi-Wan’s arm and his throat and _twists_ , flinging the other man over his shoulder. Obi-Wan twists in the air before landing easily in a crouch. “You’re **bantha fodder** , Kenobi.”

“E tu cha,” Obi-Wan offers sagely and then sprints off in the direction of the nearest training room, Quinlan hot on his heels. 

Qui-Gon watches the men go, remembering all the years of similar exchanges in these halls and on planets scattered throughout the galaxy with fondness. He chuckles and pats Anakin’s shoulder. The boy looks half scared, half scandalized. “Come along then, let’s go watch them. This will be a good learning opportunity for you, Padawan.”

“What form does Knight Vos practice?” Anakin asked as they walked.

“He’s an Ataru user like me,” Qui-Gon said, “and he’s **very** good. He’s also been training to use the reverse grip of Shien, or form five.” 

Anakin hums. “Obi-Wan will beat him,” he says with absolute certainty. 

Qui-Gon arches a brow as they enter the training room. The men are going through their warm ups in silence, their taunts and banter ceasing as each falls into the silent precontemplation that comes before a battle. It shows how _seriously_ they’re taking this, despite all their joking earlier. Qui-Gon leads Anakin over to a safe viewing area away from the main training floor. “And what makes you so sure, Padawan? Knight Vos is perhaps one of the **best** lightsaber duelists of his age group, Obi-Wan included. While they have been quite even in previous matches; I fear Obi-Wan may be at a disadvantage today, wielding two _new_ weapons and having to use a style of fighting he has not practiced in _years_.”

“Obi-Wan will win.”

Qui-Gon hums. “Do you _feel_ this in the Force?”

“No,” Anakin frowns, brow furrowing before smoothing out again. “I just **know** he will. He’s too good and smart to lose to that _sleemo_.”

“ _Language_ , Padawan,” Qui-Gon sighs as the two men finish their warm ups. The two men move to the combat circle in the center of the room and bow, blades flickering to life. 

Quinlan’s face is grim as he steps into his opening stance: feet shoulder width apart, right leg bent as his upper body twists to the left, arms reaching up and across with his elbows raised so that he can angle his saber down and diagonal to the right, just above his line of vision, the green light shining off the golden band on his face. 

Obi-Wan faces him, expression serious as he takes a wide stance, left leg bending and body leaning out to the right, center of gravity shifting to the left. His twin sabers are held in the forward position and crossed in front of him, the one in his left hand a vertical line bisecting the midline of his body and the one in his right running at a 45 degree angle up. 

The two duelists regard each other in silence, their slow and steady breath the only noise in the tense room. Around them, the Force _crackles_ , charged and ready for their **collision**. A breath and then Quinlan is across the room, propelling himself forward faster than natural as he opens himself to the Force and allows it to flow through him freely, channeling it into his movements in the characteristic style of Ataru. 

His thrust is met with a parry, the movement tight and concise, keeping to the center of Obi-Wan’s combat circle. As he blocks, he steps in with his right foot, pivoting close to his opponent and his twin blade follows the transitional movement with a short sweep. Quinlan flips over his right shoulder backward from where Obi-Wan has crowded him in, _twisting_ in the air so he catches himself on his left hand and springs off it, changing direction in mid air to flip upright and dive back in, green saber arching through the air in a wicked overhead swipe. 

Obi-Wan catches it between crossed blades mere inches above his head, and he steps in close, arching their blades around so they’re out of the planes of their body and then he pivots his body and drives his elbow into Quinlan’s ribs. He follows through with a short sweep of one of his blades, but Quinlan is _already_ using the kinetics of Obi-Wan’s blow to push himself backwards and out of his range of motion, left foot skidding against the mat and then the right. He holds his blade at the ready as Obi-Wan once again shifts into his waiting position. 

Quinlan slips into his own waiting stance, _grinning_ at the other Knight challengingly. Obi-Wan’s eyes light with the challenge and he grins in turn. 

This time Obi-Wan’s the one across the floor in the blink of an eye, but he goes for a cross blade sweep aimed to cut Quinlan in _half_ . It would have been **brutal** if it connected in battle. _Good for him._ Quinlan jumps up and backflips, kicking Obi-Wan under the chin as he turns. The other Knight turns that into a backflip of his own. Quinlan lands a second before him in a crouch and launches forward with a straight thrust. As Obi-Wan lands in his own crouch, he blocks with one blade, knocking the thrust to Quinlan’s right and leaving his left exposed. He goes in for a thrust of his own with his twin blade, but Quinlan’s using the momentum of the block to twist out of the way, pivoting, stepping onto the other bent leg and using that as a springboard to launch himself up while still continuing the turn, coming a full 360 as he comes down from above Obi-Wan’s attack with a backwards swing. 

But Obi-Wan lets the momentum of his thrust forward lay him flat against the floor and Quinlan’s blade slices through empty air. The auburn haired knight then plants his hands flat against the mat and pushes up, bringing his lower body up to kick Quinlan in the outer thigh as he falls. He _hisses_ as his leg gives out on impact, turning the fall into a roll away from Obi-Wan that he springs out of immediately. But his back is to the other, and he jumps up and over in another high backflip as Obi-Wan rushes forward with another **savage** crossed blade swipe aimed to cut him in half. From the pinnacle of his flip, he thrusts down at Obi-Wan down below, and the man shifts, bringing one blade up to parry the blow, the hit that would have _initially_ pierced him through the shoulder merely grazing his back instead. Obi-Wan _hisses_ , incited as Quinlan draws **first blood** of the match. 

But as Quinlan comes down from his backbend, the extra height he’d given the jump to clear Obi-Wan **backfires** , giving the other man time to turn, closing the distance between where inertia is carrying Quinlan inevitably. Obi-Wan parries the attack he throws at him, his transition from Ataru to Soresu _flawless_ , and his other blade comes down in a hard short swipe to Quinlan’s left thigh. His leg **buckles** , and he uses the fall to _twist_ , blade slicing as his body twists around toward Obi-Wan’s stomach; the man had moved in close to attack so he can’t get away fast enough and if he can get a hit to a critical area, then his loss of a leg **doesn’t** mean his loss of the _match_. 

But Obi-Wan is using _Soresu_ , so he just shifts his body to put it behind his block, blades crossing to stop the attack and then redirecting it as Quinlan hits the ground. He’s _already_ twisting, trying to push himself up despite how his leg is smarting and refusing to function properly – they may have their sabers turn to low, but that _doesn’t_ mean they don’t smart when you crack them down like that, and Quinlan’s pretty sure he’s got a nice big burn to his thigh that’s making all his muscles _seize up_ in protest. 

Obi-Wan is stepping over him, foot stepping on his wrist holding his saber to keep it pinned and his own blade coming up to hover above Quinlan’s throat. “ **Yield** , Vos,” he commands, and above him Quinlan sees a pair of _wings_ stretching high up made entirely of **flames** : oranges and yellows _dancing_ with bronze and carmine, scarlet and crimson and **countless** other colors his mind cannot even _fathom_. 

He _blinks_ and the image is gone, the fiery orange of Obi-Wan’s blade a pale substitute to the **nova** of color he’d just witnessed, but the imagery doesn’t escape him. Suddenly the bronze arches above the blades make more sense, as does the coloring of Obi-Wan’s new crystals and why there are _two_ now. He laughs, letting his head fall back against the floor. “Yeah, alright. I _yield_ , you **bastard** .” He didn’t stand a chance. Not now that his starbird’s _finally_ got his **wings**. 

Obi-Wan _grins_ , turning off his blades with a click and clipping them back to his belt before offering him a hand up. “You know,” he huffs as he pulls Quinlan to his feet, the other man hopping for a second before Obi-Wan slips nimbly under his left arm, helping take his weight so he doesn’t have to put it on his injured leg. “If you had just switched over to Sien and utilized a reverse grip, you might have _won_ this.” 

“ **Bullshit** ,” Quinlan grunts, putting as much weight as he can on his left leg without it collapsing, Obi-Wan taking the rest. They start to make their way to the door. “You would have still been able to counter it with Soresu, you bastard. ‘ _My Jar’kai skills are rusty_ ’ my **ass**.” 

Obi-Wan laughs, his arm wrapping around Quinlan’s waist to better help support him. “No, I’m being honest. It may have seemed like I was doing well, but I was _very_ sloppy. I had a lot of wasted movement and my blocks were weaker. And my Ataru needs some work to be better suited with Jar’kai. I don’t feel like I had a good variety of attacks with it, and I had to be more careful with my jumps because of the second blade. Plus, I didn’t have a landing hand because I had to use **both** to hold my sabers so I will need to figure out a work around for that. If you had switched to a reverse grip, the change in angle I would have needed to make for my blocks would have been even harder and you could have _easily_ slipped past my defense and won.”

“Well _shit_ ,” Quinlan growls, trying to turn them around. “Screw this, let’s go _again_ . I’ll take you peedunky ass **down** this time, Kenobi.”

Obi-Wan snorts, jabbing his elbow into Quinlan’s flank (really Obi-Wan, _again?_ ) and steering them back toward the door as Quinlan gasps through the pain. “You can try again _next time_ , nerfhead.”

“Well done, both of you,” Qui-Gon hums, falling into step with them easily. Quinlan snorts derisively. “Yes, even _you_ Quinlan Vos. You fought very hard today and your use of Ataru was _quite_ impressive. Though I must agree with my former apprentice that had you varied your attack style you would have won today. Obi-Wan, you fought quite well for having a new weapon, but you are right that your movements were sloppy. There is much improvement to be made if you truly wish to master Jar’Kai.”

“Thank you for your wisdom, Master,” Obi-Wan hums, nodding his head. 

“Yeah, _thanks_ Old Man Jinn,” Quinlan grumbles and yelps when Obi-Wan kidney punches him again. 

Qui-Gon shakes his head. “There is no need to thank me. I am merely restating what you have already said, Obi-Wan. You have grown most wise in your years and I am so **very** proud.”

Obi-Wan flushes, smiling as warmth blooms in his chest. “Thank you, Master.”

“Obi-Wan, I think you were amazing, _too_!” Anakin finally chimes in, wanting to make his presence known. He steps in front of them and starts walking backwards so he can talk to Obi-Wan face to face, grinning. “You were so **_cool!_** You were like _pow!_ And he was like **boom!** And you were like **_nope!_** **Block!** And then _bam!_ And then you were like ‘Yield, Vos.’ And I _knew_ you were gonna win from the very beginning, I totally _knew_ it, just ask Mister Qui-Gon.” He bumps into the doors of the Halls of Healing and turns to open them, holding them as they all walk through.

Obi-Wan laughs. “Thank you for your faith in me, Anakin. I think you believed in me more than _I_ did.”

A healer comes over and takes Quinlan’s weight from him, shuffling him over to a bed to examine. The Knight grumbles unhappily the entire time, but Obi-Wan knows their ligthsabers were turned down low enough that the most he has is some bad bruising and a mild burn. A wide bacta patch for the rest of the day and _maybe_ some crutches until his muscles stop spasming so much and Quinlan will be fine, the big **baby**. 

“Of _course_ I believe in you,” Anakin says, voice soft. He steps forward to hug Obi-Wan, pressing his face against his torso. “You’re the **best** , Obi-Wan.”

Obi-Wan chuckles, brushing the boy’s hair back. “Why thank you, Anakin. But I assure you, there are _plenty_ of Jedi **much** better than me. You need not look very far to find them.”

“ **No** ,” Anakin growls, his arms tightening. “You **_are_ ** the best.” He pulls back then, and the Duinuogwuin peers out of his sapphire eyes, watching Obi-Wan carefully. “ **_You’re the best for me._ ** ” There is no cold fury this time, no seething rage, no darkness. This time it **watches** . This time it _grins_ . **_This time it stakes its claim._ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave me kudos and comments please. I love the feedback and this week especially I could use the positive energy. Thanks, fam 💜💜💜
> 
> And as always, feel free to hmu on [Tumblr](https://idunnowatimdoin.tumblr.com/). Just send me a message telling me who you are like username wise and that you came from here otherwise I probs won't reply bc I ignore DMs from people I don't know


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